


Speak the words

by Narcosynthesis



Series: Morrigan and Leliana [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Danger, F/F, Falling In Love, Femslash, Love, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcosynthesis/pseuds/Narcosynthesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark omen seems to loom large as Leliana and Morrigan once again travel together, three years after the beginning of their romance. - Sequel to "An exception to the Rules". Setting is DAII. Leliana/Morrigan-Femslash. More inside...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to 'An exception to the Rules' (you SHOULD read that one first, otherwise this one might not make sense at all to you...), set roughly three years after the beginning of the Morrigan/Leliana-romance depicted in there and coinciding with events ofDragon Age , if you haven't playedDragon Age: OriginsorDragon Age II: a) Shame on you! b) This will contain several spoilers.
> 
> The story may contain implications of sex, violence (both non-explicit) and character death, as well as some possibly disturbing imagery considering Leliana's past. Though this, too, is non-explicit, it is not actually 'nice' either…and thus not suitable for children. So remember to check your age before reading!

* * *

 

**Back in the days, six years earlier…**

 "…and they lived happily ever after." Leliana finished with a smile as she looked into the faces of her audience. Exhausted, worn out, tired – but still far too tensed to go to sleep.

"Hopefully something that can be said about us after tomorrow." Alistair sighed, staring into the campfire.

"Never mind him," that was Wynne's voice. "It's a beautiful story, Leliana, surely something to lift out spirits in these dark times."

Leliana smiled at the old woman. She liked Wynne. She hoped to see her again when the final battle was fought and this was all over. As she looked around the campfire she realized how she hoped to see them  _all_  again afterwards. Alistair, Elissa, Wynne, Zevran, Sten (who was standing there rather indifferently), even Oghren…

…and then her eyes fell upon her. She was surprised to even see the witch here, listening to her story. It was rather untypical of her. A good sign?

_Truly, our journey does come to an end. And everybody knows that this might be one of our last hours together._

When Morrigan noticed the bard's glance, she frowned.

"'Tis ridiculous, you know", she said in an acid tone.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "And here we go again…"

The witch ignored him. "All your tiny little love stories do end like that. '…they lived happily ever after'."

"And what is wrong with that?" Leliana replied – and instantly bit her lip.

_Why did I even ask? I already know this will end up badly…_

"Well, 'tis quite revealing, I think. All this time you keep preaching about love as if it were a thing of such significance and importance. Yet when I hear your little stories, everything is about the passion of the chase, the first kiss…and then: 'happily ever after'. Now, 'tis curious how the  _actual_  romance is little more than a small half-sentence at the end, is it not? A mere appendix, nothing more." The witch stared at her, challenging.

"It's not like that, not at all!" Leliana protested.

"Oh, then do enlighten me: Why aren't there any famous stories about peoples' happy relationships? If this… _sensation_  were something to actually last: Why is there no single story about the wonderful, lucky life of lovers?"

"That's not true! There are such stories!"

A wolfish grin appeared on Morrigan's lips. "Oh, 'tis true. I forgot about  _those_. Do remind me, bard: What does happen in stories like that? How might they end?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Leliana knew what the witch was getting at, but she wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying it.

But, of course, someone did.

"Somebody dies." Sten's voice. Naturally.

Leliana sighed – and Morrigan's grin only grew wider.

"Oh yes, thank you of reminding us, Sten," she said coldly, knowing only too well that the sarcasm was lost on the Qunari. She turned back to Leliana. "So, somebody always dies, then. Such a curious thing, that the only two kind of love stories ever told are like that, don't you think? Now, I do not know much about love…"

"If you feel the urge to learn: We might still have a few hours to live," Zevran purred, but Morrigan ignored him.

"…I do not know much about love, but if the only two things significant to it are some little kisses and a tragic death, I do not see the appeal. Do you?"

Leliana could feel the others' eyes fixed on her, but she only stared at Morrigan – for once she was at a loss.

_What could I say? She doesn't understand and she doesn't even_ want  _to understand. She is twisting and turning it just to prove her point._

Of course Leliana could start arguing how a good story needed an arc, a conflict, something exciting and how a couple's happy life would not qualify for that. She could point out how utterly unrelated the witch's observation was to real love. The effort would be in vain, though. Morrigan had an opinion how love worked and why it was a weakness and she would not be swayed.

_I pity you._

So Leliana remained silent.

"I thought so." The witch rose up, victorious, and turned away towards her tent, only to stop in mid-movement for a quick look over her shoulder. "Sleep well, little Chantry girl. And dream of innocent kisses and a lover's death."

She turned away again.

"After all, 'tis all there ever is."

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

**_Sparks_ **

 

** Now, tonight, in the year 9:37 Dragon… **

Coldstonesrawkneesloudscreamsbloodeverywherethepainthestenchohmakerthepainthepainthepain.

Blink.

Too many impressions.

Blink.

Too much to take in at once.

Blink.

Her heart racing, she tried to focus on what was happening around her. Breathing in. Breathing out. Closing her eyes, opening them again.

Blink.

A cold stone floor. Chilling cold, she noticed as a shudder went through her bones. But that might have been fear as well, come to think of it…

( _Calm down. Concentrate._ )

She gave a start, almost too scared of the voice so suddenly in her head to really understand the meaning of the words. Calm down? Concentrate on what?

Blink.

Trying to move didn't turn out to be a good idea. The excruciating pain below her abdomen almost made her scream, but all she managed was a rasping sound, followed by a cough. Tears filled her eyes. What was…

( _Concentrate. You know this. It is not real._ )

The voice again. Unlike the occasional screams echoing through the prison (how did she know what it was?), the voice was soft and pleasant…and inside her head. She – obviously it was a female voice – sounded familiar. Soothing.

Blink.

But "not real"? The pain surely felt real. And the blood in front of her seemed as real as the tears. The pain made her body cringe, but moving was even worse. Trying to lift herself up – impossible. Her arms were weak, her knees raw as if she had been kneeling for hours.

Oh.

She closed her eyes. Memories flashed in her mind as she understood, recalled what had happened. What had been done here. What had been done to her. Panic was about to rise…

( _It's done. It has been done a long time ago, Leliana. They are no more. You made them pay. Remember…)_

This time the voice didn't make her startle again. It  _was_  familiar. And she  _could_  remember…things. Everything here felt familiar. The screams of the prisoners, the cold floor, the pain of her bruised and  _damaged_  body.

Blink.

She knew all this. All of this felt like memories, a déjà-vu or…

( _A dream. Yes, that is exactly what this is, Leliana. A nightmare.)_

She could remember now. And suddenly she recognized the voice as well. It was…

… _my own._

It was a brief moment of disorientation when the voice and her thoughts re-combined into unison, but after that everything became less blurry. Leliana felt like herself again.

Well, more or less. She still was inside a dream. But now the bard's instincts started to work again, absorbing all the impressions around her while calming down her heartbeat.  
So, the dungeon again. Her very darkest hours. Reminding herself that all of this was unreal, she took it all in. Even the nasty stench of dry blood (her own), sweat (also her own), urine (her own, she hoped…she buried some of the memories of what happened here as deep as she possibly could) and other fluids…everything rather fresh. The physical pain itself left no doubt which situation this was, which time of day.

_Only that there never was any real 'time' here…nor was there something even remotely resembling a day._

It was not easy to stay calm again as everything in her tried to repulse the memories of all the agony and humiliation resurfacing right now. This had to be a moment shortly after one of the 'visits' of  _his_  men. Painful as it was, in retrospect these moments had been the…well, 'best' part of her days here.  _The time after they were done with me. Only their cruel laughter echoing through my head._

Fortunately, she knew this was not real. So all she had to do was  _break out_  of the dream. It had taken quite some time and she had required help to learn it – but she had mastered it nonetheless. As soon as she recognized one of those nightmares, she was able to leave it. A useful ability. All she had to do was concentrate and…

…and nothing happened.

_What is going on?_

It had always worked. She should be out of here now. She tried to push away the fear inside her, rising up again at the thought of not being able to escape. Instead she concentrated once more. Still: No reaction.

_It should work! What is this?_

It was then that she heard the steps approaching. Terror grabbed her – the fear of helplessness she had long thought gone. Yet here she was: She could not break free and she knew all too well what was about to happen now. Which time of day was next.

_The worst_.

The time with  _him_. The pain his men caused her was nothing compared to what he would do in their 'private lessons' as he liked to call them. She almost threw up when she heard the key turning in the door to her cell and the memories of Raleigh's face returned. Those cold eyes, the seemingly soft voice, calling her his 'little spy' during his 'teachings'.

_Why can't I leave? I can_ always  _leave when I know a dream for what it is. Why not now? What is different?_

Another thought struck her mind. Maybe this was no ordinary dream. Maybe this was…

The moment the door made a creaking sound, she shut her eyes instinctively. She would not look into that ugly face again. Never again! Still, even with her eyes closed, there was an uneasy feeling of everything…closing in on her, as if the room itself might grind her slowly.

The steps drew closer, ever closer. Seconds passed. Moments. Maybe minutes. She could not tell. Nothing happened. No sound, no soft voice, no hands grabbing her. Still she held her eyes shut, but she could feel the presence.

_A_  presence. Not his.

She couldn't even smell his bad breath, only some oddly familiar fragrance…

Her eyes flung open – and widened instantly at the sight of the dark-haired woman.  _No._

"You…you are dead," she whispered to the woman in front of her, that soft wonderful human being that used to be her lover...before she…

"You are dead, Marjolaine," she repeated, mostly to reassure herself of that fact again. But Marjolaine kept on smiling her lovely, enigmatic smile. Oh, had she only been aware of what was hidden behind this smile.

_Nothing but greed, lust and poison._

But she had been blinded by the woman's sweet words and her soft touch. She had paid the price for that.

_Marjolaine. The betrayer. This can't be good. Not at all…_

The bard shouted at her former mentor: "This is not real!"

As if to emphasize that, the walls caving in suddenly began to tremble and, well,  _shine_  in an odd bright red – unnatural.

"You are dead, Marjolaine. Morrigan killed you! I was there. She killed you, she… _destroyed_  you!" Her voice was shrill, no longer being controlled by her.

The sensation of the walls closing in got stronger; the room itself seemed to become smaller…ready to crush her. The light pulsated with each breath.

Helplessly she had to witness as Marjolaine stretched her hand out. She closed her eyes again hastily, squeezing them shut in the vain hope that it would make that all too familiar feeling go away when the woman's hand gently touched her cheek.

And then she heard the voice, uttering but one sentence.

"This will be your tomb."

Only that it wasn't Marjolaine's voice at all.

She should have recognized the touch, soft and yet insecure as if held back by fear of damaging anything. It was not the touch of her old love, but…

_Oh please, Maker. Not her. Don't let it be her._ She could feel the tears in her eyes even before she opened them – looking into Morrigan's.

"Not you, Morrigan. Please…" Leliana sobbed.

_She would never do this to me._

But the woman just stared at her without any impression – any at all. Then she calmly repeated the words: "This will be your tomb." And again, this time whispering: "This will be your tomb."

The pressure became unbearable, as if the floor itself would burst upon and the ceiling crush down, smashing her. Everything was falling to pieces. Leliana screamed at the top of her voice, putting all the strength left in her in one blow at the woman's face. "No! Noooooo!"

…and then she did break out.

 

* * *

 

"You hit me!"

Morrigan rubbed her aching jaw. Hot fury rose in her as soon as the surprise at the girl's unexpected reaction was wearing down. How dare she?

"Blasted, you  _hit_  me, you crazy little – "

"Stay away! Don't you dare touch me!"

Morrigan halted in mid-movement, taken aback by the frantic outburst, uttered in that voice made for singing, talking…not shouting. She stared at Leliana incredulously – and at the dagger in her hand. Where had that come from? Out of thin air?

She tried to calm down.

Well, screaming back at her didn't seem to be a good idea under the given circumstances, she decided. A notion strongly supported by the dagger a few inches away from her face. Leliana might be in panic, but she sure knew how to use that thing. And her hand was steady. Remarkably steady.

_She has just woken up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, obviously not even aware where she is. Still her hand's not shaking. Not even a little._

Morrigan had learnt that these hands could kill in the fracture of a second if necessary. The girl had been trained to do so – and in order to survive, she'd still do it despite her beliefs.

_And to think that there was a time when I considered her the harmless one…_

But then again: That had been years ago. Long before she actually came to  _know_  the girl. Long before those days at the stronghold had changed everything. Long before the first kiss…

She shook the thoughts away. After all, there were other matters at hand right now. Morrigan took a deep breath and tried to address the girl in a more soothing tone. Not exactly her favorite mode of speaking, but she had been getting quite good at it during the past few years as Leliana had assured her.

Well, not 'good', to be precise. 'You are getting  _better_  at it' had been her exact words. Those subtle differences in meaning could be important with the bard – or not. You never knew.

"Leliana, you were having a nightmare. 'Tis over now. Calm down," she managed and reluctantly added her least favorite word in the whole world: "…please."

That might have sounded about right – or maybe it was just coincidence – but a change in the girl's expression showed that she was becoming aware of the situation. She stared at the dagger in her hand – and dropped it immediately as she realized how she had held it into Morrigan's direction.

And then it went all too quick, in one fluent motion.

In one moment Morrigan had noticed the change in the girl's glance, in the next she felt Leliana's head pressed against her shoulders, while the girl stammered. "Maker! Morrigan, I didn't mean to…it…I…" The rest was drowned in the girl's sobbing.

Without even noticing, the witch laid her arms around Leliana – and there it was again: this strange, tingling sensation as she felt the girl in her arms, the blush filling her face and that curious feeling of her heart beating faster. Morrigan felt reminded of the first time this had happened…on that strange night at the keep near the Korcari Wilds.

It had been there in the Wilds that Morrigan had earlier found the girl in her final confrontation with Marjolaine, her former mentor and lover. Why the Warden had spared that woman's life in Denerim years before was still a mystery to her, but Morrigan – naturally – hadn't made the same mistake. Just as Marjolaine had been gloating in certain victory, the witch had finished her once and for all. Unfortunately, she had already poisoned Leliana. So it had been Morrigan's decision to either let the girl just die…or carry her to the next stronghold, hoping to find a mage who could actually heal her.

The witch had wondered for a long time why she  _had_  decided to do the latter and even more why she hadn't just left the keep after bringing the girl but waited for her recovery.

Well, in that fateful night it had all come together. Leliana coming to her room, the two of them arguing, Morrigan calling her a hypocrite for not being a miserable mess…and suddenly the girl's head on her shoulders, crying and talking about what had happened to her, telling Morrigan about her darkest hours – and revealing for the first time that the bard was in so many respects just as scarred and wounded on the inside as the witch herself. It had been the night in which Morrigan had realized that – despite all that she had been told for all of her life – she did  _not_  need to be alone. That there was someone who shared her pain, someone who could understand her. And that she cared for Leliana. That's when this had begun.

Whatever 'this' was.

Morrigan closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  _'Twas was almost three years ago – and still there is this tingle when I hold her. What has she done with me?_

Fortunately, nobody else knew about this. Naturally they had decided to keep their…relationship a secret. After all, Leliana would have had a pretty hard time explaining to her dear Chantry friends how she had ended up in bed with an apostate. And Morrigan had come to terms with the fact that it was impossible to get the girl to turn away from the Chantry…not without killing a part of her. Whether the witch liked it or not: the Leliana's faith was essential to her. From the bards's point of view it might even make sense. After all, it had been the Chantry that had been there for her after her darkest hours. And her willingness to believe in some creator, some greater plan to give life meaning had been the reason that this girl had found strength and purpose again.

That didn't make her beliefs any less ridiculous and naïve, of course. But Morrigan believed in facts – and it  _was_  a fact that Leliana had never been stronger than now.

_Well, not exactly_ right now _, of course…_

The thought brought her back to the here and now. Back to the two of them resting in the remains of a roofless, long-abandoned hunter's shack for the night. Back to the small campfire making its sizzling noise while slowly glimmering to ashes. Back to herself holding the crying girl in her arms.

Morrigan closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She must have waited for a few minutes now and the girl seemed to have calmed down a little. Maybe it was time to ask the question. Unfortunately, Morrigan knew only too well which kind of dreams would upset Leliana like that. She could vividly recall the numerous times she felt the girl next to her, waking up in panic – sweating, panting, looking around frantically.

But that had been before she had told her that it was possible to recognize a nightmare while being in it and that there were ways to break out. Leliana had only been too eager to learn; actually she had asked her for training – asked her to inflict nightmares upon her, so that she could get better. It had been painful at first, naturally. Wynne had always been disgusted by Morrigan's nightmare spells – too cruel for the old woman, maybe. She would have been speechless to learn how they were actually being used for a good purpose. At least that was what Morrigan had told herself.

But whenever she thought about how the ordeal she sent Leliana – even if out of her own free will – was a good thing, something to make the girl stronger…it wasn't her own voice uttering those words in her head. It wasn't Wynne's either. It was the voice of another old woman, an old woman in a hut. Talking to a little girl, explaining to her why she should be thankful for that pain-without-scars that was inflicted upon her. A pain that would never, never go away.

Morrigan took a deep breath once more and tried to get rid of that thought.

_We all have our demons to deal with – and sometimes the worst of them do not come from the Fade._

That brought her back to the matter at hand. So finally, she dared to ask what needed to be asked:

"Marjolaine? Or the prison?"

Leliana breathed heavily for a moment and then looked up. "Both," she managed before she rested her head on the witch's shoulder again. She wasn't crying anymore and her voice sounded a little firmer than before. Still…

_Both!_ So the gates to her personal hell had opened once again for the Chantry sister.  _Won't the world ever let her find peace?_

Then she suddenly realized that this wasn't a rhetorical question bothering her. After all, the girl  _should_  know to how to break out of nightmares like that. Why hadn't she simply left the dream? Why put up with this pain? Frowning, Morrigan looked at the girl in her arms, but Leliana didn't seem to move at all, her breath the only sign of life…and the soft pressure as she clung to Morrigan. The bard had told her that she hadn't had any nightmares for the past two years. That Morrigan's training had worked.

_Has it? Or did she just say that to make me feel better?_ It sure sounded like something she might do.

"Morrigan?" That voice, that annoyingly/wonderfully sweet voice, broke into her thoughts. Leliana loosened her grip and looked her straight in the eyes. "Morrigan, you…you were in it as well."

"Me?" That took her by surprise. And it stung like a hot needle pierced into her flesh.  _She had a nightmare of her torment – and I was in it?_  Her thoughts raced, contemplating what kind of role she might have played in there, but there was only one way to find out…if she actually  _wanted_  to know.

_Some doors are better left unopened._

It did not help. Naturally. Criosity got the better of her. "Tell me," she stated, sounding much less agitated than she felt, "Tell me all about it."

And so she did. From the first uneasy sensations and the panic at realizing where she was to the pain which was both: a memory as much as an actual feeling inside the dream. And about that moment when suddenly Marjolaine had turned into Morrigan, when it had been  _her_ voice torturing the girl.

There was a silence afterwards. Leliana looked less exhausted, but for once the bard seemed at a loss, not knowing whether she should say any more…or had already said too much. However the girl might feel, it was worse with Morrigan. The idea of herself as being someone else's nightmare was by no means a new notion to her. On the contrary: She was rather sure that she haunted the thoughts of many people who had the displeasure to meet her on a bad day or stand in her way.

Never, though, had she considered herself part of Leliana's subconscious fears or nightmares. Well, never since that night at the keep three years ago anyway.

' _Tis not right!_ The voice in her head sounded almost angry.  _For years now I have been trying to clean the mess that this woman has left in Leliana's soul – me, who is not good at…well…_ being good _– and what do I get? I get thrown into the same pot with that very woman – and a dagger held at me!_

There was a dark cloud rising up in her mind – an all too familiar cloud – at those last thoughts. So she did what she always did when it threatened to overwhelm her: taking the offensive.

"Well, there is something curious about this. I wonder: Why did you not leave the nightmare as soon as it had been revealed as such? Why did you not break out?" she asked, the reproach visibly weaved within that question.

Leliana looked at her and Morrigan could sense the bard's fear as she recalled. "I couldn't, Morrigan. I just couldn't."

"But you  _should_ , girl! It can be done, as I have taught you. You know how it works by now, do you not?"

Leliana shook her head. "It's not like that, Morrigan. I wasn't weak. I saw the dream for what it was. But it was like I said: I just couldn't break out because…" She paused for a moment, trying to get the words out before they escaped her. "Because it wasn't a normal dream, Morrigan. It was like…"

_No! Not this._

"No." Morrigan stated as the dark cloud grew thicker and thicker, her actual voice like an echo of her thoughts. "No, we will not have that discussion again.  _I_  will not have that."

They had been over this numerous times, but never – not once – did they reach any kind of common ground here: Leliana talking about visions, about the Maker talking to her – and Morrigan trying to fend off that idea without hurting the girl too much (which was quite an achievement, considering how utterly ridiculous it was).

"You can't just ignore it like that, Morrigan," Leliana looked saidly, "Whether you want to believe in my visions…"

"…your  _dreams_ …"

"…my  _visions_  being sent by the Maker or not." The girl's voice was growing more defiant (…and the dark cloud became a fog, all around her…), "But you cannot deny their significance."

"Significance? What significance, I dare ask? You had a bad dream about the Blight, yes. So did numerous other men and women! They, however, did not misinterpret their mind's simple and natural cry-out born of fear as some religious epiphany."

Leliana's face hardened, resulting in a rather asymmetric combination with her soft and ever-melodious voice. "They didn't end up fighting side by side with the Warden, Morrigan."

"No, they did not. They ended up dead or worse at the hand of the darkspawn. 'Tis rather surprising – is it not? – that your beloved Maker would not have the common decency to give them such a simple command as 'Go, leave your farms.'"

"You are missing the point, Morrigan. It is not about  _why_  He does something and refrains from doing something else. The important thing is  _what_  He did. My vision brought me to the place I had to be, allowed me to do what I had to do. So it did have meaning. And if there's any meaning in  _this_  one, too…"

"There is none!" The dark fog of the familiar feeling was engulfing Morrigan by now and she reacted just as habit told her to: lashing out furiously. "Wake up, foolish girl, 'tis a dream, nothing more. The only meaning enveloped in this is that you keep trying to put a meaning into it. For all your Chantry teachings are not enough for you – no,  _you_  have to be the one having visions, the Maker's favorite pet because  _that_  does convey meaning. And 'tis much easier, is it not? Easier than admitting that 'tis as simple a reason as this: you could not leave that nightmare because you were afraid of your past and, after all these years, still let fear paralyze you." The spate of words came out far too easy. And Morrigan hadn't even finished before starting to regret it.

_No, I didn't want to say any of this. It is not even true. It's the dark cloud, not me._

But the words had done their job. Leliana just stared at her silently, her face expressionless, but the way she looked at her…

The girl rose up, turning away from the witch.  
"Leliana, I did not…"

"Yes, you did. Don't speak anymore."

The girl's voice was trembling and Morrigan wanted to stand up, put her arms around her like she had done so many times, but Leliana was moving away into the dark.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"'Tis the middle of the night!"

"I need to take a walk to that stream nearby. Cool my head. Think about this."

"I could come…"

"No." The girl stood still for a moment. Her head turned around and from the tone of her voice Morrigan had expected to see tears, but there were none. "Give me just a few minutes." Her voice sounded firmer now. Colder. "I'll be back soon enough. It is my time for taking watch anyway, no? Try to find some sleep, Morrigan. I hear there is no harm in that. Nor meaning." And with that she vanished into the night.

The tension went out of Morrigan's body as if she suddenly slumped down. That had been a mistake and she knew it. Yes, she tended to act like that when it came to discussion with other people, but Leliana…

_I did not want to hurt her._

But she had, hadn't she? And though she knew that this wasn't beyond repair and that it would be done with in the morning when both of them had found their senses, it wasn't the way it should be. She had met the dark cloud in her mind all of her life, ever since her first actual memories of Flemeth. Her mother had been very inventive when it came to use that old familiar feeling, but by now Morrigan had hoped to be able to find another way to deal with it than taking it out on other people,  _hurting_  other people to protect herself from it.

The dark cloud, which was not choking her right now, but would return the moment she thought about Leliana's nightmare too long.

The old familiar feeling.

Fear.

 

* * *

 

Leliana sighed as she felt the cold water of the little stream dripping of her face. She stared up to the familiar constellations of the stars on this bright summer night with not a cloud hiding any of them. Vague memories of her mother came to her mind, showing her the stars, explaining their meaning. But then again: She had been rather young, so her memory might as well be playing a trick on her. Perhaps it hadn't been with her mother, but with Lady Cecilie. It had been long gone anyway, hadn't it? So much had happened since then. So much had happened in the last years.

And something had happened tonight.

She wasn't really angry with Morrigan. Those things she had said – they had been painful to her, but not so much after she had seen that spark in the witch's eyes. She knew that look. Morrigan hadn't meant what she said, she had just tried to hide that she was afraid. Afraid of that dream.

_Just like me. Well, not completely like me…_

Naturally, Morrigan didn't believe that it had been the Maker speaking to Leliana again. The bard wasn't even completely sure herself. She just knew that this dream had been…different.

Maker or not: Morrigan knew only too well that dreams did hold meaning – at least some did. And it had been written in Morrigan's beautiful features that she understood. This one was different from the other nightmares because there was a reason why she hadn't been able to break out of it: It was important for her to see it all…to the end. But why was it important? What was the meaning? Those were the logical questions. And logic was something the witch understood.

_So she must have seen the possible implications as well._

'This will be your tomb _'_ – it was a warning, obviously. And it was the crucial part of the dream because it had been the only words spoken.

_So far, so good. But that wasn't the hardest part, was it? The one that scared her…and me._

What?  _What_  would be her tomb? This was where it got scary. Marjolaine turning into Morrigan…

… _or Morrigan turning into Marjolaine?_

It was a troubling thought – even more so considering the fact that there were certain similarities between the two women. Both of them were strong and independent, not willing to let others pull their strings. Leliana had always admired that kind of determination and strength. Both had a kind of mysterious, sometimes even enigmatic aura to them – and a dark side.

And they had made her feel safe. Wanted. Desired.

Still: Comparing them with each other? It was hard to compare the wicked witch with the passionate lover – especially since the years had obscured who of them was what.

Marjolaine had always been so gentle and caring. Up until…

… _up until she had no need for me anymore. She threw everything we had away in an instance. She…never truly loved me._

That, at least, was a fact. Nobody who felt even the slightest bit of real affection for another human being could do what Marjolaine had done to her.

Morrigan, on the other hand, might seem hard on the surface (and occasionally act hard, to be true), but she could be so caring and gentle and…nice once you had found a way to make her trust you. Yes, some of her actions were not at all something Leliana could agree with. Selfish. Immoral. Cold. But unnecessarily cruel like Marjolaine's? No. She couldn't believe that.

_But that's what I have always thought about Marjolaine, right? Up until I felt her dagger in my chest. Our relation…it_ had _almost been my tomb._

She stared into the distance, trying to ignore that thought. Their destination was somewhere ahead, a two day's journey, or maybe three. Then they would leave the isolation of the wilderness and get back into the roaring city.

Leliana sighed again. It was a pity, really. She always enjoyed being alone out there with Morrigan. It was always so quite and peaceful – like it had been in the Chantry in Lothering where she had finally found peace. Of course they were occasionally fighting over this and that, but that was something they were used to. All in all, their days together – limited as they were – were a blessing, full of long walks, inspiring talks, gentle touches and passionate nights.

_She wouldn't throw that away, would she? Why?_

It didn't make any sense. There was no reason why Morrigan should betray her like Marjolaine had.

_Still: It is the only interpretation I see. And Morrigan must have seen it, too. I have seen the fear in her eyes, the fear of me realizing what this might mean._

Maybe it was not a voluntary act then? Maybe not betrayal, but maybe her romance with Morrigan would be her tomb nonetheless? After all, they both knew that their relationship came at a risk. The Chantry would not at all be pleased to hear that someone in Leliana's position was secretly bedding an apostate. Not that it was any worse than what certain other high-ranking folk in Val Royeaux – and even in the Chantry itself – did when the curtains had closed and they felt unwatched (Leliana knew only too well…after all:  _knowing_  was crucial in her line of work), but if  _this_  would ever become known, not even the Divine might be able to protect her. To most people in the Chantry, and possibly to the public as well, few things could outrank the immorality of her relationship with the witch. It wasn't just, but life seldom was.

_So is this the warning sign? Must we end it before this relationship will be_ my _end?_

Maybe it wasn't about Morrigan becoming Marjolaine, but could it have been Morrigan telling her to end it now before everything fell to pieces?

The last vision, back in Lothering had been referring to developments in the near future, warning her of the Blight and proclaiming the Warden's arrival – at least that was what she had made of it. This one…it was different, more obscure. But if it was anything like the other, it might still warn her of something immediate, something close. So: Morrigan?

_What else could it be?_

She was rather sure that there was no danger of another Blight and there had been no hints towards that in the dream – none at all.

The Chantry? Apart from some incidents with the mages (no hint towards that either), she was unaware of any developments in the Chantry, any dangerous conspiracy against the Divine, which might pose an immediate threat. Otherwise Dorothea – as she still called her sometimes when they were alone – wouldn't have sent her away for this very mission...a rather simple one at that:  _'Get Elthina out of there…silently.'_

She had already been her, months ago, to assess the situation, but had accepted the Grand Cleric's choice despite the heated atmosphere. So, of course it would take some 'persuasion' to get the Elthina out of the city this time, yes, but Leliana had succeeded at tasks much harder than that. Already she had made preparations to master the 'silently'-part of her task as well. It might take some time and patience, but it was not that difficult. There wasn't much that could possibly go wrong with that.

_But I digress. This isn't the point, is it?_ And with that her mind was back on the dream, the vision. She had to figure out what it meant before it was too late.

She sighed, as she took a last look into the dark. Her thoughts went back to Morrigan, probably already asleep when she returned – or pretending to be, hoping to avoid any further discussion of visions and the Maker. She decided that she would give her a kiss when she returned to the shack, just in case. If she  _was_  actually awake and could feel it, she would understand the message: that Leliana didn't hold a grudge…that her words, uttered in fear, were forgiven. After all, Morrigan and the vision were all that mattered now. The Grand Cleric could wait. So could the mission.

She turned around. Away from the Cleric, away from her destination.

Somewhere in the distance Kirkwall was waiting.

' _This will be your tomb'_


	2. The kindling

 

 

** Back in the days, decades before… **

_Blasted! No tears. Not for this. Pull yourself together! No. Tears._

It didn't do much good. All her attempts at forcing herself to stop it from happening were already in vain. She had thought she had it under control now. That she could take anything without resorting to petty emotions and the weakness they wrought. Yet the drop running down her cheek begged to differ.

_I'll have to get down to the stream again. Wash it away before she notices._

Mother did not approve of tears. Not in the least. She had been pretty clear about that and the girl certainly wouldn't want to go through the ordeal of Mother learning about her weakness. Especially for this.

_Stupid, stupid beast!_

Why hadn't it come today? And yesterday? It had always been there. Right here, at her own little place – always! Had she done anything wrong? And why did she care at all, blasted!

"Well, well. What have we here?" The voice cut through the air like a blade.

_No, she can't be here! She's never here. This is the only time of day that she just lets me be alone._

Hastily, she tried her best to brush the treacherous liquid out of her face as casually as possible before she turned around. Maybe Mother hadn't noticed yet.

_Who am I trying to fool here? Of course she has._

"Young Morrigan in distress, it would seem. Not a pleasant sight. Why might she be so sad, I wonder?"

Morrigan just stood there, frozen. What  _could_  she do? Denying wouldn't help and admitting…would be worse.

_Stupid, stupid beast._

As Flemeth, the grand Witch of the Wilds, slowly and gracefully drew closer, Morrigan could see the subtle smile on her face. It might have looked compassionate or encouraging to some. Unfortunately she knew better than that.

"Speak up, daughter. What upsets you so? Did that little bird not return today…again? That would make three days in a row, if I am not mistaken? It has not been absent that long ever before."

Morrigan's heart sank deeper and deeper. She knew! Mother knew about the sparrow. She had known it all along – for weeks. She…

… _she has been observing me. Even here._

"It's…it's my…my…experiment," she managed. Just  _thinking_  of the words "my friend" made her realize how foolish the whole idea had been.

_It was just an animal. It was not here to be your friend. That would be foolish. Are you a fool, girl?_

Yet the tears had betrayed her.

Mirthlessly, Mother laughed: "Oh, Morrigan! My ears bore witness to better lies out of your mouth when you were three. Dare not to even  _think_  that you could fool your old mother like that."

Morrigan sighed. Of course not.

_Damn that stupid bird! If only I had never seen it here._

Oh, she had ignored it the first time she had seen it. It was just an animal after all. But the more often she had come here, the more this became her special hiding place – the more often she had seen the sparrow. And  _somehow_  that little fellow had grown on her. It was not a beautiful bird, by no means! But it was here and it was nice and it looked at Morrigan without any sign of judgment. She had started bringing little breadcrumbs with her and feed it…and she had started talking to it. It was only a bird. And yet it also was the only living thing besides Mother she could meet and talk to on a regular basis. That was as close at Morrigan ever got to having a friend. Mother did not approve of friends.

"Well, well…" Mother's voice had that undertone again. Not good. Not good at all. "Obviously, your little friend has turned away from you. Maybe for another bird. Maybe it has a family now. Or maybe another foolish girl somewhere else has been feeding it and it has forgotten you. And maybe, just maybe…there might be something to learn from this." She fixated Morrigan with that dangerous look. "Say: Did you learn something today, daughter?"

"Right now, I care not about you lessons, Mother!" The words just burst out and Morrigan immediately bit her lip.

_Foolish girl!_

Flemeth did not move at all. She just stood there like a rock. Unmovable.

"So, do you really think life's lessons will wait for you until you are  _willing_  to learn then? We learn when we must, not when we want. Now: Did you learn something today, daughter?"

It was the same question. The same tone. Nothing had changed. Yet Morrigan knew what would happen if she failed the lesson now. It would be…unpleasant.

_Please not again._

"I…I should not put my trust in animals? Because they will disappoint me in the end?"

Mother remained unmoved. "And if an animal, a being of pure instinct, will behave like that, do you think that the lesson is limited to them?"

Morrigan's head sunk. Of course not. She should have seen that. "No. 'Tis the same with humans, of course. Unreliable and skittish they are. I should not trust them either. Less even."

As she looked up she didn't see any approval in her mother's eyes. Maybe she had expected something else. Maybe that  _had_  been the lesson and it had just taken her too long to figure it out. Or maybe Mother wasn't convinced that she had learned it by heart.

Trust was weakness, alright. But it had just been a little bird after all. Where was the harm in that?

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**_The Kindling_ **

 

"It is soooo cute, no? I mean…an ankle bracelet? Isn't that something new? I think it would look nice. Don't you think it would look nice?"

No reaction.

"I could buy it right now and put it on afterward. It just costs…" she began.

"…one sovereign for you, my lady. And I agree: It would look magnificent!" the merchant blurted out enthusiastically.

She put on her sweetest smile – it was also a false one.

_I wasn't talking to you at all._

Leliana tried again, this time in her cheeriest, most childish voice. It was bound to do the trick, wasn't it? "You hear that? One sovereign! That's a good price, no?"

Still no reaction.

"Morrigan? I asked you something."

The witch looked at her with no visible sign of disapproval at all. "Yes, buy it if you like."

With a sigh Leliana handed the bracelet back to the merchant, who did not even try to cover up his irritation at this missed opportunity. No doubt he would have enjoyed selling this most ugly and overpriced piece of junk his collection had to offer to what he had considered a naïve and ignorant young lady from Orlais. But Leliana had never intended to do him the favor. All she had wanted was to tease Morrigan a bit, get the usual reaction out of her. The witch was supposed to lecture her how utterly useless a piece of jewelry worn at a part of the body where nobody could see it really was – and how ridiculous it would be to pay a sovereign for such nonsense. They were supposed to argue over this.

_It was supposed to be fun._

But it wasn't. Not anymore. Leliana sighed as they returned to their slow stroll over the market of Hightown, full of people, yet oddly quiet for the sheer number of city folk on their feet. Kirkwall sure hadn't changed for the better since her last visit. Something had been in the air even back then – and that nameless feeling had only intensified since then. There were more templars patrolling now – more templars than guardsmen, come to think of it – and while Leliana had no problem with that personally, she knew that it was seldom a good sign for a thriving city. Especially not for a city with a Circle of Magi right at the core. The tension was palpable and made the folk of Kirkwall act accordingly: their eyes down most of the time, their voices muttered, and their laughs suppressed. All very matter-of-factly.

_Everybody minding their own business, trying not to attract any attention._

She had expected this. Returning here had not been something she had looked forward, too. Yet she had a task to complete, whether she liked it or not. It had been an order from the Divine herself and she had none been able to swing Dorothea's opinion on this one. But her mood had lightened a lot when one night the raven had arrived, the one carrying a message from Morrigan – their safest way of communicating while she was in Val Royeaux. In her typical scratchy handwriting (Leliana presumed that in Flemeth's 'education' writing had had a much lower priority than reading) the witch had told her plans of heading towards Sundermount. Leliana had felt like dancing that moment: finally a chance to be together for a few weeks again! It had been so long.

_Well, and then came the dream…_

Leliana cursed herself for even telling Morrigan all the details. It was a mistake. The mistake that lead to this…

_We don't even argue anymore. Not even over a stupid ankle bracelet._

It seemed that the dark message of her vision – for that it was, Leliana had little doubt about that – and their argument after that had eaten their way deep into their hearts.

_Now I wish we were fighting or at least arguing. That would make things easier._

Instead every sentence seemed laden with subtext, every word robbed of its innocence – and so they talked less and less. It was safer not to mention the unthinkable. Because what else could it mean after all? The prison, Raleigh, Marjolaine…all of that was long gone. Morrigan had been the only element in the dream that was not a fragment of a past that could no longer touch her. What else could be the 'tomb', mentioned so intensely?

It was, after all, a dangerous game they were playing. She had thought about it some more: If a relationship between the Left Hand of the Divine and an apostate became known, it could quite easily become her tomb in a very,  _very_  physical way. In the past years Leliana had had dealings with the Seekers of the Truth…and they would certainly not think twice if they learned about this. Dorothea could only protect her so far without risking taking any damage herself and Cassandra, her most trusted contact with the Seekers, might be the Right Hand of the Divine, but hardly the one  _controlling_  the Seekers. In fact, all that Cassandra had told her about the actual Lord Seeker hinted toward him being a tough and merciless man – and from a woman who was hard as a brick herself these words did carry weight.

That was the good thing about this journey: Here in Kirkwall, nobody knew her or Morrigan. She did not wear any chantry insignia right now and Morrigan, well…Morrigan looked odd as usual, but she did not have an 'apostate'-sign attached to her head either. As far as the people of Kirkwall – and the templars – were concerned, they were just two normal innocent women minding their own business.

_This was supposed to be fun._

But how could it be when a dream might have told her that it needed to be over. It was an unsettling thought, of course, but what else was the possible consequence of the vision? Did they need to end it in order to survive?

_Maker, no. You can ask anything of me – anything – but not this._

She had tried to tell that to Morrigan. That despite all the possible implications she was not willing to let go of what they had. The mere thought of that was enough to make her wanting to cry after all. Never since that night at the keep had she even looked at another woman, never had the thought crossed her mind that it could ever be over.

_We are meant to be and I will rather die than give that up._

That's what she had told Morrigan the day after, too. The witch had just nodded and given her a quick kiss. But that had been it. The seed of doubt was out there.

"Well, I'll be damned: if that isn't my favorite songbird!"

A familiar voice pierced through her thoughts while the arm suddenly slung over her shoulder did a good job of washing any thought away for good. Out of a reflex, Leliana spun around…and stared into big brown eyes and a beautiful, all too familiar face she hadn't expected in the least.

"Isabela!" her outcry was just a bit louder than intended, but for the moment she didn't mind. Maker, it was good to see a happy face for once!

"In the flesh," the woman with the blue bandana and the, well, 'challenging' outfit stated with a chuckle. "Good to see you, girl!"

For a moment Leliana was overwhelmed, not exactly sure which way was appropriate to welcome an…old friend like her. But Isabela did not leave her much time for contemplation and a second later she found herself in a hearty hug. Not exactly subtle, but Leliana couldn't care less.

"Now, what might you be doing here?" Isabela asked after releasing her. "Still being, you know, one of the 'good girls'?"

Leliana smiled (Maker, it felt good to smile again!): "Of course, of course. And you? Still being a bad girl, yes?"

A broad grin appeared around the pirate's lips. "It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it, right?" Abruptly, as if to prove her words, Leliana noticed the rather unsubtle indistinguishable, smell of alcohol around her,

_It's barely afternoon. Has she been drinking already?_

Then again: Isabela did like a good drink, as Leliana remembered only too well…a memory making her blush unwillingly. It was a abiding memory, which was not exactly appropriate given the fact that she was here with…

_Morrigan!_

Leliana cursed herself for nearly forgetting about her. She had been too…distracted. As she turned around, she could see the witch standing there with a very distinctive and – considering the situation: very appropriate – frown on her face.

Quickly, Leliana made a gesture, turning Isabela's attention towards Morrigan, ready to make the introduction: "Isabela, I want you to meet…" And suddenly she recalled. "Oh, right: You probably remember my friend Morrigan?"

For a moment, the pirate seemed to contemplate, but then the first sign of recognition showed on her face as it dawned on her: "Oh, of course! You would be the…" Fortunately she held her tongue before saying something stupid. "…the hermit woman, right? You want a hug, too?"

Morrigan stared at her coldly: "Not if I can help it. If I had any intention of suffocating, I am sure to find better places then your embrace."

Leliana sighed in relief. The people around them had let their loud reunion only distract them for a moment and were minding their own business again, yet it would have been not too wise to say the word 'witch' out loudly.

_Now for the harder part…_

"Morrigan, you remember Isabela, yes?"

The witch never left her eyes of the pirate: "Do I, now? It must have slipped my memory then."

Leliana frowned. Was that meant as an insult or did she really not recall her? She decided to play it safe: "Of course you know her!" she murmured. "Denerim? The Pearl?"

"Oh yes, that pirate whore."

Leliana wished the ground would open and swallow her up.

_Maker's Breath, Morrigan!_

She was just about trying to make up an excuse, but luckily, Isabela simply laughed at that. "That's precious. Usually only my friends call me that."

"I presume there is no shortage of well-paying 'friends' then," Morrigan said icily.

"Careful, wild girl," Isabela's voice did not deviate from the cheerful, amused tone, "I do remember another name for you. You know what I mean: another word for hermit woman. Makes the templars edgy. Rhymes with 'bitch'," than she grinned wolfishly, "Actually, never mind:  _that_  one fits, too."

Leliana felt the need to interfere before the two women would say something really foolish – or stare each other to death. "Could we please," she whispered, "agree that Isabela is  _not_  a whore and Morrigan not a…whatever you meant she was."

For a moment, the two women continued their little staring contest, then, abruptly, Isabela turned towards Leliana again chuckling. Leliana was relieved and felt a bit stupid: Of course Isabela wasn't going to get angry or irritated by Morrigan's word. She was just playing, as usual. "Interesting company, songbird. I did not know you were still travelling together."

"We are just…" Leliana began.

"…travel companions," Morrigan added hurriedly.

_Maker's breath! Now that was subtle…_

It had been too much to hope that Isabela wouldn't have noticed the insecurity in their answer. Her eyes widened incredulously as she turned from Leliana to Morrigan and back again: "So…you…and  _you_ …" A roaring laughter followed, "Andraste's granny-panties, that is  _priceless_!"

"Isabela…," Leliana started.

"No, songbird. No need to explain. Whatever works for you," she said with a wink towards Leliana before she turned at the thunderstruck Morrigan, "And you, wild girl: You are a  _very_  lucky woman." Fortunately she had the common sense not to wink at her, too. Otherwise, Leliana feared, actual bloodshed had been inevitable.

But she did relax a little. It was a strange experience, but in a way it was nice that a friend knew about them. She knew Isabela well enough to be sure that the woman might tease all that she wanted, but she  _did_  know how to keep a secret. This could turn out to be fun, right?

Isabela sighed, calming down a little. "Well, girls, that settles it then. Now I've officially seen  _everything_. Alright, maybe if I should run into Orsino and Meredith making out at the Hanged Man, I'll revise that, but hey: you can live with that, can't you? Just can't compete with the big ones."

The two names brought Leliana back to reality. Orsino, the Great Enchanter. Meredith, the Knight-Commander. Kirkwall. Her task.

"So, the situation is that dire, yes?" She was surprised how calm and matter-of-factly her voice sounded. It was the agent of the Divine speaking.

Isabela's smile lessened significantly. "You have no idea, songbird. Oh, no, wait – I bet you do. That's why you are here, I suppose?" Leliana nodded. "And you thought it was a good idea to bring your  _friend_  here along…why? Because she's that good with the people you're working for?"

"Not really, Morrigan is just here to visit Sundermount."

She wanted to slap herself the moment after the words had come out. Had that been a smart thing to say? Morrigan's icy stare sure seemed to suggest otherwise, but she had reflexively wanted to keep her out of this business with the templars and the mages – by any means.

Isabela whistled. "Sundermount, well, that's a weird place to go, wild girl. I hope you have a guide at your disposal?"

"'tis a mountain," Morrigan spat out. "I am feeling quite confident that I should be able to find it on my own without any risk of overlooking it."

"Oh, I'm sure you can and I'd love to see you try. But there's a lot of dangers you don't know about. And we would not want songbird here worrying about you, would we?" She made a short pause for effect, before she continued: "But consider yourself lucky. Because I happen know just the person who can help." A wicked grin appeared on her face. "And trust me: you are going to  _love_  her."

* * *

She hated her.

Of course Isabela had probably known that all along and could have barely waited for Morrigan's face when she finally met her 'guide'.

… _and of course I did not disappoint._

The faintest drop of interest had found its way through the ocean of frustration, anger and annoyance in Morrigan's head at the moment they arrived at an astonishingly wealthy estate in Hightown. A Dalish woman who could have made it this far in a human city to live in a building like this? That had sounded curious. For a fracture of a moment.

It was gone once she had actually met Merrill and learned that the true reason she lived here was that the estate, in fact, belonged to currently absent boyfriend, some Ferelden man who most people here seemed to regard as the city's very own knight in shining armor ascended out of the dust. Morrigan knew that type. In all likelihood he was probably just your typical spoilt noble who got lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time without looking nearly as arrogant and selfish as the other lords and ladies. The usual pretender. Which made this Merrill…

… _just another despicable little girl who made mooneyes to the right man. Pitiful._

An impression Morrigan saw underlined by the girl's tendency to spontaneously start babbling like a little child – and the way she had stared at Morrigan in pure awe when introduced, as if she just witnessed the rising of a dragon. More than that, she could picture Merrill staring like that at  _everyone_  and  _everything_ , an impressionable child in a world full of rainbows. Some men just loved that behavior, this Hawke-fellow obviously among them.

Isabela, naturally, had smirked when witnessing Morrigan's without a doubt sour face after the introduction, fully aware of how she had hated that foolish Dalish girl the moment she had laid eyes on her.

_Isabela._

She couldn't even begin to explain how much that woman irritated her. Those stupid jokes, the constant amusement, the winking and the innuendos…it was disdainful.

Which made it even worse how Leliana could fall for all of that. It was a miraculous as well as troubling sight how quickly she seemed to have found her smile again the moment that pirate whore made an appearance.

_What does she see in her?_

Morrigan could only dimly remember how they had met this woman in Denerim during the Blight. Leliana, however…she seemed to know her disturbingly well. The way they acted together, the impertinent hug, the little glances, all the touching and winking…it was as if they were old friends.

_Or more than that?_

She shivered at the dreadful thought that at some point Leliana and that poor excuse for a woman could have been… She didn't want to finish the thought, but yet it was there.

_Even if: why should I bother?_

It was nerve-wrecking: Of course she was aware that Leliana had had partners in the past and while that was all good and fine, she could not help an unfamiliar feeling nagging at her, impossible to describe yet still eating her from the inside, every time she heard Leliana chuckle at some foolish jest that woman had uttered.

It was frustrating when Morrigan full well knew that her mind was probably playing tricks on her and that there was no rational reason to be as agitated by the Isabela's bold and challenging smiles – especially when she should focus on more important matters.

Yet here they were, looking at a map on the wall as Merrill stuttered an explanation about Sundermount's position and the way up there – and all she could focus on was how Isabela had somehow managed to stare at the map right over Leliana's shoulder (naturally not without any physical contact) while looking both bored and mocking at the same time – bored about the explanation, mocking at Morrigan? Again it made no sense and there was no real indicator that she was actually aware of the witch, but the feeling persisted.

 _She doesn't even look at my face, but she just_ knows  _how I look and what I feel at the moment. Is this some game to her?_

She had to do something to end this.

"Well, 'tis a mountain then," she spat out. A little too annoyed? Did she reveal too much? Did Isabela notice? Was that a laugh?

_She is a demon! Just look at her – you need to get rid of her._

It was maddening. She knew how foolish that voice in her head was, but there seemed no remedy to deal with it, make it go away. Why did cold logic fail here? This needed to stop…now.

"'Tis a mountain and I do see myself capable of reaching it without breaking my legs." She took up on the previous thought.

"So…you don't want my help? Not that I think you need it, I'm sorry. I am sure you can look out for yourself, but there's…never mind. I should…I shouldn't be talking. Not at all," Merrill stammered nervously.

"Don't worry, kitten. You two will get along just fine," Isabela laughed. "Besides that, there are the Dalish to consider."

"I can deal with the Dalish," Morrigan stated coldly.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure that normally you'll get along just peachy with them. After all you do have the same sense of humor." Isabela grinned and turned to Leliana, silently, but obviously forming the word 'None' on her lips. Leliana did her best to suppress a giggle –  _A giggle, damn that pirate whore!_  – and then softly punched Isabela in the ribs. "But seriously," the pirate continued, "I am not so sure about them now. They have become very…weird with humans after, well, the last incident. Merrill here might not be their…favorite person in the world either, but maybe she can at least make sure they don't shoot you on sight, wild girl."

"I…this is probably not a good idea…I mean, what can  _I_  expect…"

The girl's nervous rambling went on for a while but Morrigan didn't listen. All she could think of was the giggle.

 _A blasted giggle! I used to_ hate _that!_

…and now the thought of how that woman had stolen that from her seemed to choke her.

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing she has given me in the past days. And now…_

It was not even true: Leliana had tried to establish some sort normal conversation, but it had all seemed so…forced. Morrigan had no interest in that sort of nonsense.

_And as soon as Isabela showed up, she suddenly could laugh again._

She could feel her heart pumping wildly as the nameless feeling was suffocating her from the inside. What  _was_  that?

_Weakness._

The word hung in her head and with it the tone of a too familiar voice. The voice of an old woman, who was…

… _gonegonegone. That's what she is: gone. Concentrate!_

She could see them talking, their voices nearly down to a muffled and hollow flicker. She stared at Leliana, who looked back at her with – what? Concern? Pity?

She was talking, too, but all Morrigan could hear right now was the  _her_ voice. Telling her how this would end. Lecturing her about what a foolish, foolish girl she had been to let  _this_  into her heart. Laughing. Oh, how she hated laughs right now! All the world seemed to laugh now, all except her. Making her.

_Alone. Again._

How could she have allowed for such weakness? How could she ever have believed that it would go down any other way than this? 'I told you so. It is not something meant for you, my child.'

_Out! I need…to get…out._

"Then we go," she said suddenly, surprised at how calm and concentrated her voice was despite the roaring thunder in her head.

"What? Like…now?" Merrill stared at her in disbelief. "But it's already late afternoon, we would…"

"Now." Morrigan repeated coldly while burning from the inside.

_Out! Out! Out!_

"I do not have the luxury to waste any more time on idle chatter," she managed without the faintest sign of the chaos engulfing her thoughts.

And as soon as she noticed Merrill reluctantly setting herself in motion, she spun around and walked out. Fast. No look back.

The amusement of the old woman in her head followed her outside.

* * *

Leliana reached Morrigan just around the estate. Still a little breathless (the witch had been storming off as if being chased after all) she managed to catch up with her.

_What is up with her?_

"Morrigan, a word, please?"

After a moment of hesitation, Morrigan finally stopped her stride – if only because Merrill had done so once she had heard Leliana's shouting. Morrigan stared at her and she just looked back in silence. Then they both turned to the Dalish girl who obviously hadn't gotten the message yet.

"I am sure that was supposed to mean 'a word  _in private_ ', girl." Morrigan snapped at the poor elf, which finally made Merrill jump.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…I…I could just wait for you at the gate, right?" she stammered – and hurried away without even waiting for an answer.

Finally, they were alone. More or less. There were a few people out on the streets of Kirkwall, but Leliana had her doubts that suggesting to go back to the estate would find Morrigan's approval right now. Given the coldness emanating from the witch's presence, people seemed determined to give the two of them all the space they needed anyway. Once more it became abundantly clear that there was something in the air here – some nameless feeling of uneasiness which made the citizens nervous. No one wanted to get involved in any trouble, even if two women fighting in the street wasn't in fact anything threatening the city's safety.

_Are we actually fighting, though? And if so: because of what?_

"Is everything alright?" she asked. A foolish question to start with; she knew that. But Leliana had to start somewhere, right?

The witch snorted sarcastically. "Oh, everything is just brilliant – how kind of you to ask. I am about to go on a little trip with an annoying little elven girl and despite the temptation of invigorating talks with your new best friend, you finally seem to have found a way to notice my existence as well. How honored I feel right now."

So that was it? Did Morrigan just feel neglected – or was it about…?

"This has nothing to do with Isabela then?" The question came out before Leliana could even think whether it was wise to ask it.

_Well, why ignore the dragon in the room? She's obviously not comfortable with Isabela._

Leliana couldn't exactly say why the witch would so agitated. Sure, Isabela was not exactly Morrigan's type of person (then again: who was?), but the pirate was harmless and fun. Something they could really do with at the moment.

 _Or is it more like something_ I _could do with?_

Morrigan laughed humorlessly. "How could it? Isn't it just wonderful how that girl's japes brought the smile back on your face?"

That look on the witch's face – she knew that one. She had seen it on hundreds of face, sometimes even been the reason for it. But could it be? Leliana barely suppressed a chuckle.  _Jealousy? Really?_

The mere thought of Morrigan, the Witch of the Wild, being jealous was just too much. She couldn't help but burst into laughter…which did not go particularly well with Morrigan.

"I am glad 'tis amusing to you."

"I am sorry, but could it be that we are just a little bit…possessive today?" She managed to avoid the actual word 'jealous'. It probably would not have changed things for the better.

Leliana had hoped that her obvious amusement would be enough to take the tension out of this subject, reveal it for the minor trifle it was. Unfortunately it was not.

"Now is that not just priceless? Being taught about self-control from a girl who just barely managed to keep her clothes on in there! Shall I politely knock at the door before I enter once I return? We would want to avoid me bursting in on you two at the worst possible moment, would we not?"

Leliana forced herself to a smile.

_Seriously?_

"Now you're just being paranoid, Morrigan."

"Oh, am I? So you and I, we travel all this way to this blasted city in the Free Marches and just  _happen_ to run into that old…acquaintance of yours by coincidence, is that it?"

"Yes!" Leliana could no longer hold back. "Yes, it  _is_  a coincidence, Morrigan! Maker's breath, I didn't even know she was still here!" she almost shouted…and immediately bit her lip, noticing what she had just said.

_What is wrong with me today?_

Meeting Isabela had woken up some…memories, yes. But this was hardly an excuse for such a foolish beginner's mistake. She hoped that Morrigan had overheard the little word. Naturally, that hope was in vain.

"…was  _still_  here." Morrigan repeated coldly, "Now that is a curious wording, is it not? So you  _did_  know she lived here. Interesting…"

Leliana sighed. This was all going wrong. Terribly wrong. It was one thing to see the witch jealous, but this – she had to stop it before it got out of hand. So she did the only thing that could help getting this conversation back in line: she told the truth.

"Yes. I did know. I met her here a few months ago while I was on another mission."

"Another mission." Morrigan's voice was acid now. "'Tis interesting, you know, how those just happen to bring you two together."

"It wasn't like that! She was just accompanying this man, Hawke…"

"That whore surely gets around."

"I told you, she's not a…"

"I do not care what she is!" Morrigan's voice was furious by now.

_Maker, how did the tone of this conversation change into that so quickly? It's my fault, no? I should have seen that she cannot deal with this. She probably never had to._

"Then just let me explain!"

"No." That word cut it all off. "No, Leliana. I have no interest in your 'explanations' now. You did have three years to explain whatever you liked. You never did. 'Tis too late for that now; I care not for whatever colored tales your head might spin me right now."

With that, Morrigan turned around, ready to leave.

_This isn't fair!_

It wasn't like they actually talked much about…that sort of things. Sure, she had told her about Marjolaine (it was hard not to, given the nature of their relationship) but all the other things that happened before she and Morrigan became, well, whatever they were – all of that had never been relevant to their relationship. Of course she would have told her everything if the witch had shown any signs of interest. Admittedly, some of her former actions and acquaintances might have required a lot of…context to be explained properly. Yet: She  _would_  have told her everything, had the witch just asked. No, she  _still_  would tell her everything if need be. Tomorrow. The next day. A fortnight from now. Whenever. But now, in this very moment, she had to do something.

_Maker, I have to fix this._

"Morrigan…," she said, trying to grab the witch's shoulder, but she was interrupted.

"You know,  _girl_  -" The way she used that word send a cold shiver down Leliana's spine. The tone of her voice suddenly had changed to the one of times long forgotten. Times back at the camp during the Blight when Morrigan would not honor attempts to talk with anything but cold contempt and disdain. "You sure did find your way out of that grave real quick."

Leliana froze. The words struck her like a cold knife – far below the belt.

"What…did you just say?"

_She can't mean…?_

Morrigan turned around again. "You heard what I said. 'This will be your tomb' – you surely figured a comfortable way out of  _that_  one in a remarkably short time. Was that the 'mission' all along?"

For a moment she just stared at the woman's face – Morrigan's face, but…was this the same woman? Or was this the Witch of the Wild again, Daughter of Flemeth, cold and hard and…lonely. Leliana felt tears pushing hard against her eyes, just by the mere thought of that.

_Does she really think I'm leaving her? Running away because of that dream? Is that what she thinks of me?_

"You can't possibly …"

"Oh, Leliana. How easy it must be for you. Whenever you are facing a decision, there is someone making it for you." Her words were ice now. Not the kind of ice you met in winter here. No, the other kind. The one that never melted. "Your precious Maker. Always there to justify. Never a doubt. How convenient that must be."

"Morrigan,…"

_Please don't say this. Please._

"I do know this: A few nights ago, you woke up with a dream about  _me_  being your demise. And now you just  _happen_  to run into someone else. Someone who you – as it turns out – have met quite a few times before, but never felt the need to mention. Now riddle me this, bard: What do you expect me to think how this story might end? Will the good little Chantry girl forsake her Maker's warning and stick with an apostate, a relationship doomed from the beginning? Or will she dutifully do what her god so obviously asks of her and sacrifice that relationship 'for the Greater Good'? 'Tis not a hard one, girl. Not at all."

Leliana felt her heart breaking.

As if someone had stepped it with a dagger.

Again.

 _She thinks I made it all up. The dream. Everything. To end it. To end_ us _._

As Morigan turned around and stepped away, Leliana wanted to follow her. Catch her. Stop her. Take her in her arms and tell her everything.

But she could not. Those words, that…tone – it had taken all the strength out of her.

"Morrigan", her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke. "You are wrong. I will be waiting for you. We'll talk about this once you did what you came for, yes? You are wrong, Morrigan. I will be here. I will be waiting."

The witch did not turn around this time. She could not even see Morrigan's face when she heard her say: "You might want to reconsider that, girl. Just think of how much easier it would be. But maybe your Maker will explain that to you, too, in your next little 'dream'. You  _will_  have a lot of time for dreams if you choose to wait."

A few moments later she was gone.

* * *

As she walked away she found it hard to concentrate on her breathing. The dark cloud was there – and this time it was suffocating, pressing all the air out of her.

The old familiar feeling.

It was a fear planted in her for as long as she could remember. Flemeth had seen to that, no doubt. The fear of being hunted for what she was. The fear of being betrayed by anybody who would find out about her true nature. The fear of being different. And of being alone forever.

_Did she really plan that? Has the dream just been a pretext for this? Did she and that pirate wench plan this from the beginning? 'twas I who suggested coming along to Kirkwall, right? Accompanying her on this journey because of my own._

She tried to remember how Leliana had reacted when she had suggested that. Had there been any hints that she disapproved? That she was unwelcome? That…

… _that Leliana might have a secret romance in Kirkwall? Did I miss the signs?_

She couldn't believe that. Not at all.

As she stumbled through the streets she tried to concentrate on the last moments. That look on Leliana's face. It might be a bard's play, but it had  _looked_  like she was truly shocked. That she was just overreacting, reading too much into it. That all of her fears were just paranoia. She wanted to believe that.

And that's why she couldn't.

_Focus on what you have seen in the past days, not on what you want to see! The way she acted after her dream. Her behavior with Isabela. The way she ignored you._

Her own words had been harsh. And she did not truly believe that it had all been a set-up. However, there was the other explanation: The dream was real – and it had changed Leliana, without a doubt. Maybe it was just a coincidence that they had met Isabela. In all likelihood the pirate was just a fling from before the two of them had gotten together, a one-night-stand in the Pearl.

Still: It did signify the end, did it not? Witnessing how Leliana behaved towards that woman had raised the question what would stop her from doing the same (and more) with someone else once their ways parted again? Naturally, Morrigan could not accompany her back to Val Royeaux, so there was bound to be a 'next time'. Long months that Leliana would spend alone, far away from her. And with that dream and its clear implications in her head, Morrigan had no illusions how it would end sooner or later.

_Sooner or later she would realize that you are too much of a liability for an agent of the Divine._

Yes, the forbidden fruit tasted oh so sweet and it was an adventure to Leliana's liking. But in the end she would have grown bored of playing hide-and-seek – or afraid that the dream would come true.

And as she came closer to the city gates and as her breath calmed down she realized the bitter truth: their relationship had been doomed either way. Whether it was a conspiracy or a true nightmare that had planted the seed of doubt in Leliana's head: either their romance had died a quick death here in Kirkwall or a long and painful death once they were separated. The outcome was inevitable. She was doomed to fail in this.

_Just like I have been told._

It was the same thing as with the sparrow, some twenty years ago: For weeks it had been there, waiting for her like an actual friend. She had been so sure that it was the exception to Mother's rules, that somehow she  _could_  make it work, forming a bond with someone else. But then it had failed her. And taught her a lesson. Ironically, it was another bird that had just shown her that she had better learned it by heart back then.

_Trust no one._

And once again Mother was right.

All the teachings, all the painful lessons of how she could never have a friend (or something more) because it was impossible for a witch, all the tears, all the loneliness – Mother was a cruel and vile creature…but she was also right.

_And now I even call her 'Mother' again._

She had stopped doing that after Flemeth's betrayal and after finding out the truth about her nature. She had tried to sever all bonds by refusing to acknowledge any connection between them. Leliana had spoken against that. She had told her that trying to deny the past wasn't going to help to deal with it.

_But fuck Leliana, right? Shit on her pathetic little words and lies!_

That was a surprisingly intense outburst, but Morrigan could see what was happening: she was readying her old armor again – putting on the cloak of cold, merciless distance, disdain and misanthropy. It was an ugly cloak, yet it  _did_  protect her. It always had.

_And it drives the cloud away._

She took a deep breath, no longer threatened by fear, no longer caring at all. The city gates lay before her. A step out of this damn hole – out of everything. The foolish elven girl was waiting, smiling nervously and looking stupid by that.

"Let us go," were the last words Morrigan spoke for the next few hours.


	3. Flames

**Back in the Wilds, decades earlier…**

Morrigan stared at the little bird in her hands incredulously. It was a miracle, really. How much it had changed in just a few days. Still she held it with all the care in the world, like a precious treasure – just like she had done numerous times before. Yet, it did not  _feel_  like that anymore. How much joy it had brought her a few days ago and now the sight of it invoked…nothing. It had lost all its magic.

Though, to be fair, that might have something to do with it being dead.

It might have  _a little_  to do with that.

With a sigh she tossed it away carelessly. She had come here to bury it. That had been the plan. It seemed stupid now. Because now, finally, she had understood the lesson.

Her throbbing head bore witness to that learning. As she knelt down before the little pond and stared at her own image she half expected to see dozens of the bruises. Bruises of the beating-that-never-happened. Of course there was no sign of the endless strokes.

_There never is._

Yes, she could remember the first slap. The one she had deserved for her own stupidity. She had been enraged and in tears when she had found the lifeless sparrow with the broken neck on her bed. Of course she had understood that it  _must_  have been her – Mother had been far too friendly the whole evening. That was a bad sign, always. Yet in the heat of the moment she had impulsively turned towards the elder witch, standing there in the doorframe with nothing but curiosity on her face. That had been when she snapped and tried to go after Mother.

_First mistake._

The blow had come out of thin air, no, it  _had_  been thin air. Mother never beat her with her hands. She just raised her hand and let the air throw Morrigan back with all its force.

_No bruises that way._

The reason was obvious: That way Morrigan would not see the marks on her face when looking at her own mirror image. No sign of Flemeth. No bruise she could wear like a trophy to remind her that it had been Mother who had done this to her, that she had stood up to her. No, there was no trace. Just the pain. 'You have done that to yourself,' that was the absurd message.

Even more absurdly, it worked.

Attacking Mother in rage had been the first mistake, an act born out of fury. Her own doing.

_If only my foolishness had stopped then._

But it hadn't.

Mother had given her the chance – a few seconds to calm down and find her focus before she had asked: "My, my. So much rage. Could it be that you still have not learned the message behind that, my Morrigan?"

The smug smile had been enough to send her on her feet again and to go after her  _again,_ screaming: "The message is that you are a cruel monster and that I hate you!"

_Next mistake._

She had gotten another chance after that blow - and the one Mother had sent after that for good measure. "But no, Morrigan. Can you really be so foolish? Think, girl! The lesson has been there all along."

Oddly enough, she had calmed down. Oh, fury had still been raging inside her, but her mind had taken control. She had understood then what was required of her – the message. She had to show Mother that she had gotten the message.

"I…should have protected it from you…?" she tried.

_Dumb mistake. I really deserved that one._

Flemeth had rubbed her hand after that – as if she had actually felt something when dealing the next stroke. "A question, was it? Not actually a lesson, is it? And of course that is a foolish notion and you know it. How could you have protected it? How? When you cannot even protect yourself…" Another. And another. She had hoped for blood to show at that moment, just to signal that the pain was actually real. But of course there was no blood.

_It never happened._

"We have been over this, but I will just say it once more because you seem really slow today: Know that I am not taking any pleasure in any of this. I am doing this  _for_  you, child," Mother had continued, as the next hit had pushed her against the wall. "Anyway: You could not have protected it from me even with a lot more power, girl. Because I am everywhere, for I am every human in the world – and every animal. A bigger bird on the hunt. A disease. Or old age, killing it from the inside. You could not have protected it either way. Now, what do we learn from that?"

_I should have understood by then. She could not have made it any more plain._

As she rubbed her aching jaw, Morrigan wondered whether it had been anger or fear clouding her view or just stubborn defiance that had prevented her from seeing it yesterday.

_Maybe I wanted not to give her the satisfaction._

It had been a long night and it had ended with her sleeping outside once more. But during the long and futile lesson Mother had not seen that she still held the sparrow in her hand. An odd sense of satisfaction had overcome her when she had taken it to the woods just an hour or so ago – to bury it.

Defiance.

Unfortunately, that was when the message finally struck her. It had never been about the sparrow. She couldn't have saved it either way. It was about  _her_. About all the disappointment, the pain, the anger and the despair her little 'friendship' had caused her.

She used the water from the pond to wash a tear away – the last one she would ever cry. That she vowed. And she just knew that it would be true, that never again a tear would leave her eyes because even if it was hard to admit: Mother was right in the end. There was an important point in that lesson. Maybe the most important point of all: the key to invulnerability. A lesson so plain, so simple…and so true.

_Never connect._

_Never bond._

_Never care._

* * *

** Chapter 3 **

** _Flames_ **

 

As she followed Isabela through the streets of Hightown, Morrigan's last words were still resonating in her head – hollow as an echo. But they weren't hollow words, were they?

_They sounded…poisonous. Like her old self._

Leliana was restless – and it was not at all the right time for that. She had to focus on the task at hand, concentrate on the chantry, on Elthina. Everything had to work perfectly. It had to be  _clean_ , she couldn't allow for any missteps once she entered.

And the fear of Morrigan's words did not help at all with that.

" _You will have_ a lot _of time for dreams if you choose to wait". What was that supposed to mean?_

Of course she understood the underlying implication, but there was no way that Morrigan would throw it all away like that, right?

_Right?_

"Still brooding, songbird? You shouldn't overdo that. It'll give you nasty wrinkles in the long run." Isabela's voice cut through her contemplations like a…well, not like a knife really. More like a blunt object. Which was necessary, considering how dense that web of thoughts and fears had grown in the past hours since Morrigan had been gone.

After that she had done everything to get away from the thoughts. She had put on her chantry robes and left all the other belongings at the estate, getting ready for her task. Isabela had kindly offered to show her the way to the chantry, even if it wasn't necessary. Leliana had agreed nonetheless, hoping that talking with Isabela would clear her head. But there was not much talking. Not at all.

_Should I have run after her?_

And there it was again…

_Will she come back at all?_

_She must, no?_

_She will._

_She can't leave it at that. Not after all those years._

_She must come back._

_It can't end like this. It…_

_Concentrate!_

A gentle pull to the side ripped her out of her trance. "Really, Leliana. I get that this upsets you, but that poor old woman there didn't deserve being almost run down by you." Leliana stared in Isabela's eyes, taking some endless moments to comprehend. When she turned around, the lady she had in all likelihood run into a few seconds ago had already faded into the crowd.

"I'm sorry," Leliana muttered. "It's just…"

"Complicated? It usually is." Isabela smiled warmly.

"She isn't like that normally."

"Oh, really? So I just met her on a particularly good day?" That smile again.

Leliana sighed. "Well, it's not easy. I'll admit that."

"Songbird, believe me: The easy ones aren't worth the trouble. The complicated ones, the impossible ones…well,  _that's_  where it gets interesting."

She was surprised to hear herself chuckle. Yes, of course  _Isabela_  would be into that kind of relationship. Adventurous. Exciting. Impossible.

"You know, we  _could_  take a break if you want to? I know a lovely…establishment just around the corner where we could have a drink. Just like in the old days." The smirk on Isabela's face did bring back some memories. Years ago, it might have made her blush, but it did not have any power over her now.

"No, thank you."

_If only I had shown that before. When Morrigan was around to see._ Why _didn't I?_

"Are you sure?" Isabela made a sad face, "The chantry will still be here in a few hours. And a drink might do you some good."

It was rather plain who really desired that drink, but Leliana did not have time for any further distractions. Better get it over with and then concentrate on Morrigan.

"No, I'll be fine."

Isabela shrugged. "Well, it's your loss." As she turned her head around to face Leliana, there was a curious glimpse in her eyes. "How long has this been going on anyway? You and her, I mean?"

"Three years."

"That is…something."

The subtle pause would have given it away, but more clearly the look in Isabela's eyes betrayed her thoughts. A woman with less control over her own countenance might have just stared at her blankly.

_She can't believe it. Even she – a person who loves to go against all odds – would have thought it impossible to last that long. What did she think? That is was just a little fling…_

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realized it. That was it, right? That was the point. That was what went on in Morrigan's head, too.

_She was afraid that it couldn't last! She must have feared it all along. And after the vision…oh, no._

Morrigan's fears had always been a…problem. Yes, she had opened up to Leliana. And yes, she knew of the deep scars Flemeth's philosophy had left in her heart. Yet even after sharing their darkest fears in long nights, it was still hard to grasp how much Morrigan was still affected by that.  _Infected_  by that. After she had broken the ice, after she had established the bond, Leliana had felt that Morrigan  _had_  gotten better. Her behavior certainly showed that she was in control. She was supposed to be the strong one.

_And I completely overlooked how much she needed me. How fragile it all was. No! How fragile it_ is,  _not_  was _!_

Her greatest fear had been that Morrigan would some day grow tired of her and lose interest. That  _she_ , in the end, wouldn't be good enough for the witch. Never had the thought occurred to her that Morrigan might have been paralyzed by the fear. The fear of her mother speaking the truth. That no one could ever truly love her.

_Love. We never even named it._

In this respect as well, she had expected Morrigan to be the one saying it first. The one to take the initiative. The strong one.

_It should have been me._

The thought burnt, consuming everything around her. It  _was_ her fault. She should have been the one standing up for what they had, not waiting for Morrigan to do it. She should have shouted the words right into the witch's beautiful, beautiful face. I love you. To purge every shred of doubt and to cleanse Morrigan's souls of the terror she'd lived with all of her life.

_You blind fool! How could you not see it?_

"Rivaini!"

The male voice was just a blur, something almost getting lost in the usual background noise of the city – and drowning even more in the furious waves of Leliana's thoughts. It was a familiar sight when the beardless Dwarf appeared before Isabela, but Leliana couldn't care less at the moment.

_Think, Leliana. How can you fix this?_

"Varric, what are you doing that close to the chantry? Please don't tell me this whole situation has made a repentant sinner out of you…," she faintly heard Isabela's voice.

… _if she shouldn't return…_

"Nah, wouldn't dream of it. My sins make for a too good story to waste them on an audience of templars and sisters."

… _no, she must return! She has to…_

"Figured that much. But why the worried face? Too much frowning will give you the wrinkles, you know? And what a shame that would be!"

_What is it with her and wrinkles? And who cares? Concentrate!_

"Oh, Isabela. Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings."

"The rumors are true then? You actually have feelings?"

… _should have gone after her…_

"I am all about emotions, Rivaini! My heart almost broke that night Bianca made those strange squeaky noises."

"I don't even  _want_  to know what that means."

"Sadly enough, you do. And you know you do. But hey, you have company?"

It took a moment for Leliana to realize that he actually meant her – the woman who had been standing next to them without taking any part in their conversation. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one embarrassed by that.

"Oh, right…," Isabela seemed to have forgotten about her as well, "You do remember Sister Nightingale?"

"Of course! Weren't you the age…" The dwarf paused in mid-sentence as he realized how Leliana's eyes were shooting daggers at him for the mere possibility that he might speak the word 'agent' out loud. "…the ageless beauty we encountered at the Hanged Man months ago, right? What a funny coincidence."

_Much better._

"Ah, that is right. Greetings to you, Varric."

The dwarf turned towards Isabela: "You sure do know how to keep...interesting company, Rivaini."

"Oh, and you don't even know half of it yet. You'll never guess who is in  _her_  company. Trust me: You're going to  _love_  this!" A quick look towards Leliana made her reconsider blurting it out right now.

_Good girl._

"But, well, that is a story for another time, my friend. And you did not answer my question. The one about the frown?"

_That's good. Change the topic. You can tell him about me and Morrigan later – spin a tale wild enough to make it utterly unbelievable. And it will end up as just another pub-story._

The dwarf sighed. "Ah, you just know me too well, Rivaini." And that's when his face darkened from moment to the other. "You know, I might be getting paranoid with all this tension in the air, but I swear to you: I just saw Blondie coming out of the chantry."

… _but it_ is _a wild tale, no? Something that no one would believe. Perfect! Now_ my _doubts are back again…_

"Really? Now that's a surprise," a smile brightened up Isabela's face, "Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, Varric: Sometimes our friend just does weird things."

"Oh, really? And here I thought throwing hundreds of those pamphlets around in the city was just a kind and perfectly healthy way to remind the good people of Kirkwall to stay sharp."

… _I'll have to do something…_

"So, what's your theory then, my friend? Oh, wait, I got one! You think he and the Grand Cleric might secretly…you know…"

"Isabela! Not the right time for  _that_  now. Though I do appreciate the effort." The momentary smile on his face – obviously a result of whatever little inside joke was going on here – vanished quickly. "But, trust me: There was something amiss. He did look kinda suspicious."

… _it's up to me to save us from becoming a dirty little story in a pub…_

"Well, I sure have a hard time picturing him going anywhere near a chantry without looking suspicious."

… _oh Morrigan, how could I fail you like that?_

"Yeah, but he, well, he had that  _other_  look. You know…" A glance at Leliana gave away that he wasn't exactly comfortable saying anything more. "Also: he and Hawke had quite the fight earlier. Believe me: Something here stinks worse than a nug-wranglers garbage bag. And if my late brother can be trusted, then that's quite something."

… _I should have known it. Seen it coming. Prevented it…_

"Have you seen Hawke since?"

… _need to concentrate…_

"No, that's the thing: He's nowhere to be found. Same goes for Aveline, Choir-Boy, Daisy and Broody."

_Wait? Are they still talking?_

"Don't worry about Merrill. I've seen her just a few hours ago and she is…in safe company. I guess. But the others…"

"Why don't you go look for your friends?" Leliana was surprised at the sound of her own voice, just realizing how awfully quite she had been the whole time. Still, she had better and more important things to consider than these two gossiping about their friends. So she turned to Isabela: "I really should have no problems locating the chantry from here, Isabela. So why don't you go with him and look for your friends?"

"You would be okay with that?" It was an unusually polite question – even more so since the pirate's face heavily suggested that she would indeed much prefer searching her friends than visiting a chantry (and Leliana was  _very_  sure that the glorious quest for the lost companions would start at a place with the additional benefit of serving drinks).

Leliana smiled: "Yes, I'm sure I won't get lost. I have seen a chantry or two in my lifetime, you know?"

Isabela nodded in relieve. "Well, it was my pleasure, songbird. You know where to find me."

"Usually right at the bar." That one earned Leliana a roaring laughter from Varric.

As she watched the two of them moving away she couldn't help but think how soon they might start talking about her and Morrigan. Surely, Isabela would keep her mouth shut for a while and if she trusted the dwarf well enough to actually tell him then he probably earned that trust.

_Yet it might be wise to move out rather quickly once this is done._

'…once this is done' – now that was a way to get back to business. Leliana took a deep breath and turned around. She could see the chantry from here and once she started to move forward she could feel her mind becoming clearer again, concentrated on the task at hand.

A familiar feeling returned and Leliana embraced it. It was like a dance with her older self – wild, enthusiastic, daring, a bit crazy even. Constantly trying to move in every direction possible. A passionate dancer – and a dangerous one. But she was the one leading that girl. She had to be the one making the rules. Firm. Concentrated. Calm. It needed both of them to make this work. Oh, had she missed this dance!

As she took the stairs up to the impressive building, she was in complete control again. She knew what to do with Morrigan. Once this was done, she'd go searching for her at Sundermount. She'd find her. And she'd scream it into that woman's face – every last detail of how she felt for her. She would not let it end like this. Never.

Arriving at the top of the stairs she pulled the hood over her face. It might have been Leliana climbing the stairs, but it would be Sister Nightingale who entered the chantry.

_This will be your tomb._

For a moment she could see Morrigan's face from the dream again. But she refused to give in to that as she stared at the doors.

_No, it won't. You will not be my demise, Morrigan. I won't let it come to that._

And so she stepped in.

* * *

As the doors were shut behind her, Leliana plunged into the silence only a chantry could offer at this time of day. It was as if she had left the mortal world behind, pried away from the noises of Kirkwall by the massive doors, as she entered a chamber of serenity and calmness. No matter how often she made this transition in her life, no matter which city or which chantry – it would always remain a moment of awe for her.

She loved it.

The Kirkwall chantry was said to be the biggest one in the Free Marches and as she made the first step into the magnificent building, witnessing the rows of statues lined up at either side of the main hallway she had little doubt about that. She had been here only once before, a few months ago for her first visit, just to witness with her own eyes that the messenger really brought her request for a meeting to the Grand Cleric – and admittedly because she also wanted to actually  _see_  Elthina before meeting her officially.

_Never any harm in getting a first impression beforehand._

So now she could easily identify the Grand Cleric at first glance: The elder woman up there in the center of the building, quietly talking with a few people in front of her; troubled townsmen in search for answers and guidance, no doubt. The line of people standing before the stairs indicated that they weren't by far the only ones in that.

_This might take a while._

However: the fact that her entrance hadn't been noticed by anyone played into her hands. When she was sure that neither the crowd, nor the Sisters inside had looked her way, she carefully turned around to the left, looking at the templar guarding the door. Meeting her glance, he nodded. Leliana waited a moment and then turned to his comrade on the right. He casually put his hand down the hilt of his sword and nodded as well. Twice.

_The signal. Good._

Thus the preparations had been made, just as Cassandra had promised. The templars inside the chantry were all initiates who knew what would happen here tonight and how they needed to react if Leliana had to 'persuade' Elthina to go.

… _which is rather likely, no?_

Leliana sighed silently. They had argued about this long enough when the plan was made. Personally, Leliana respected the Grand Cleric's position and her determination to remain where she was.

_Where she is needed!_

When asked, she had made it abundantly clear that in her opinion a Grand Cleric leaving her city in troubled times could potentially send the wrong message, especially when all potential danger was based on hearsay and rumors. Elthina leaving the city could be seen as a sign of weakness…or that the chantry was insecure if it could hold up the peace. Of course, Kirkwall was far from safe and calm, but still no immediate threat to the Grand Cleric was evident, Leliana had argued. Removing a Grand Cleric against her will when there was still hope for things to calm down, did not sound very appealing to her.

Cassandra had spoken against that, naturally, claiming it would only be a matter of time that Elthina would become a target – and a dead Grand Cleric would be much more of the disaster for the Chantry than one who had left before push came to shove.

Leliana had held the upper hand at first. After all, the Divine trusted her in these matters. However, when the Knight-Commander's second request from (for more templars to 'control the situation') in less than three months had arrived, the tables had turned. Reluctantly, Leliana had to reassess the situation and admit that it had become more and more obvious that hope for a compromise seemed to dwindle with each passing day – which had earned her a second journey to Kirkwall.

_So, here we are again. I apologize, Elthina, but this time you do not get a vote in this._

Unfortunately, the situation at the center had not relaxed yet, so Leliana had to prepare for the worst part of an agent's job: the waiting.

With yet another sigh she silently moved into one of the side-rooms of the hallway – unseen, of course.

_Let the waiting begin._

* * *

It turned out worse than expected. Much worse. Morrigan wouldn't have minded the hours on her feet when travelling to Sundermount. In fact she might have enjoyed the journey out in the wilds.

If it weren't for  _her_.

She hadn't exactly looked forward to travel with Merrill, but the Elven girl turned out to be a lot more annoying than even Morrigan had foreseen. As much as she had struck her as the shy and nervous kind upon their first meeting: she was also the  _talkative_  kind. Morrigan never really understood why some people just seemed unable to deal with silence and obviously felt the urge to fill any second of it with mindless blabbering.

It was even worse with Merrill since there was little doubt that the mere presence of Morrigan seemed to make her nervous. The girl seemed respectful, even fearful towards her. Maybe she could sense that she was a mage – or maybe she was just afraid of anyone. Who knew? The result was the same: an endless waterfall of nervously uttered words and sentences, more often than not interrupted by the obligatory and yet fruitless self-observation "I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk so much."

"Indeed. You should not." Morrigan had put particular effort into making this proposition an absolutely unmistakable matter-of-fact statement without any room of misinterpretation.

Of course that hadn't stopped Merrill from starting all over a few minutes later.

Unfortunately it was annoying on more than one level because Morrigan felt painfully reminded of a certain bard who had, during their journeys with the Warden, behaved in much the same way. Less nervous possibly. More cheery.

_Yet just as irritating. You could put these two in one room for a whole day and they would talk until late midnight – without either of them remembering a single blasted word of what the other had said the next morning._

If there was one thing that Morrigan didn't want to deal with now, it was without the shadow of a doubt being reminded of Leliana.

Which made it all the more annoying that – for reasons that were completely beyond Morrigan – Merrill  _actually_  started to talk about Leliana at one point. They had been resting for the night (after all they had started their journey too late to make it to Sundermount the same day) and there was no way to reconstruct how that monologue had turned into that direction, or why, yet suddenly the girl seemed to feel the urgent need to tell Morrigan what a nice person her companion was.

It was pretty obvious that the fool had no understanding of the true intimate nature of their relationship – which, Morrigan had to teeth-gnashingly admit, was something she could relate to. But still Merrill seemed to think that she desperately wanted to hear what a decent lady 'the Sister' was. So she told her (in detail) how their little group of four had met Leliana a few months ago. At least that part of the bard's story seemed to hold true, then.

_Or maybe Leliana has set her up to this? Making her tell me some colorful lie about the innocence of her acquaintance with the pirate-whore?_

Still: Due to the lack of any other useful activities, Morrigan decided to join in on the game as soon as Merrill mentioned the cheerful reunion between Leliana and Isabela:

"So they  _did_  know each other? Say, how did they react on that 'coincidental' encounter?" The emphasis on the word 'coincidental' would obviously be lost on that foolish girl, but Morrigan included it nonetheless. Just for the sake of it.

"Oh, they were…happy? I guess?"

"And in what way would you say they were…'happy'?"

"Well, like…friendly. I would say. Old friends, I think."

Morrigan sighed. This was going nowhere.

Merrill beamed: "Oh, Isabela even complimented her on her beautiful nickname. They had a good laugh about that."

"What kind of laugh?"

The girl looked entirely overwhelmed by the mere idea that there was more than one kind. "A…laughy laugh?" she offered helplessly.

_Blasted, they could have made out right in front of this one without arising any suspicion of being more than just friends._

Morrigan rolled her eyes and turned away. This was indeed a fruitless effort. If anything, she could now discard the notion that anyone had set up the elf to tell any convincing fake story. If you would put Merrill up against an unusually insecure yet highly choleric Pride Demon who asked her if it would look cute in a red dress she would  _still_  not be able to tell a lie in order to save her skinny arse.

_A hopeless case._

Morrigan started to move again, signaling that this conversation was over. She quickened up the pace, hoping that this would somehow help to prevent further gibberish.

_Let's get this over with._

It seemed to work…for a few minutes.

* * *

It was curious: The longer Leliana stared at the walls of her hideout in the side-room, the more she was under the impression that they did look oddly familiar. Yet all her contemplation did not bring forward any result as to why and how she could have seen these except maybe at her first visit.

…and she had  _a lot_  of time to contemplate. She had to hand it to Elthina: The Grand Cleric did care for her followers passionately. No simple words and a line from the Chant, which would suffice for many a Revered Mother in chantries all over Thedas to be counted as 'counsel' for their subjects – no: Elthina actually  _talked_  with the worried city folk. At length. Good for the fine people of Kirkwall, bad for the Left Hand of the Divine, patiently waiting in her little hideout as the hours seemed to stretch endlessly.

Finally Leliana could hear the doors shutting as the last person – a particularly thorough and dedicated Sister – left the building.

_Time to act._

Without further ado, Leliana entered the main hallway again, giving a silent nod to the most nearby templar and strode up the stairs in a determined pace. She was almost up when the Grand Cleric finally seemed to notice something and turned around to face her.

"Your Grace," she muttered with a polite bow.

"Greetings, young Sister. I had not even noticed that any of you were still here." A warm smile played around her lips. "But, say: Why the hood? Surely there's no need to hide your face in the light of Andraste."

For a brief moment Leliana was taken aback and considered the situation. There was no actual demand for secrecy – yet, despite her sympathies for the Grand Cleric, there was  _also_  no particular need to reveal the full facial features of the Left Hand of the Divine to Elthina and, more importantly, all the templars in the room. These were men sent by the direct command of the Divine herself, of course, chosen by Cassandra personally, no doubt. But still, why take a risk? Why make herself identifiable by more people than necessary?

"I do apologize, Your Grace, but there are more urgent matters to discuss than my outfit."

A frown appeared on the old woman's face. "There are? That is interesting, young Sister. And what might those be?"

"The will of our Most Holy, Divine Justinia V, on whose behalf I am here tonight."

That took her by off-guard: the frown deepened, but it didn't take too long until a realization dawned upon the elder woman's face. "You are her! The Left Hand…Sister Nightingale."

The mentioning of her agent name sent a little tickling sensation down Leliana's spine. It was a foolish and silly reaction, of course, but still the bard in her seemed to give a squeaky laugh. Oh, the joy of the Game!

_Careful, Leliana. Don't let your guard down._

"I am," she simply replied. "I apologize that last time we did not meet in person. Indeed it seems that Serah Hawke did unfortunately forget to forward my…proposal to you?"

Of course he hadn't. As soon as she had met him, Leliana had been fairly sure that she knew this man, Hawke. He strongly resembled a nice and honest young man from Lothering. It was a bit far-fetched that he could be here, but then again: maybe he had fled Lothering before the end. So, yes: she had trusted him to do as she had asked of him the moment they met. But just to make sure, Leliana's 'eyes and ears' had also witnessed the Champion going into the Chantry the day after their meeting, so there was no reason to believe that the bidding had not reached Elthina.

The question was one of pure etiquette – and to see if the old woman would lie about it when given a chance. You could learn a lot about people by studying their behavior when given the chance to lie their way out of a situation. Elthina could easily take the bait and claim that Hawke had never told her about the Divine's request.

"Oh, but he did," the Grand Cleric answered truthfully, "He did his duty, as did you. The fact, however, that I did not heed your proposal was my own free choice." Her eyes fixed Leliana calmly. No challenge. But also no sign of resignation. "Now, what does that tell you, Sister Nightingale?"

Leliana returned that analyzing look without any indication of her feelings whatsoever. "It tells me", she responded calmly, avoiding the urge to blink, "It tells me that you really care for your people and that you are a woman of strong will." She smiled humorlessly. "It also tells me that the Divine was wise to rephrase that request this time – in form of an  _order_  instead of a proposal."

Elthina sighed. "That woman really wants me gone, doesn't she?"

"It is a matter of precaution, Your Grace."

"And what about the people of Kirkwall? What precaution do they get?"

"Even if I knew, it would not be my place to share with you." Leliana added a subtle, yet unmistakable nuance of sharpness to her tone when she added: "Neither is it your place to judge the Divine's orders…Your Grace."

"You seem to have planned this quite neatly, Sister Nightingale."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"I assume that besides you waiting for the city folk and the Sisters to leave, you have taken under consideration that some of the templars here are old friends of mine, who might not be too happy to see me leave against my will?"

"If you were indeed trouble yourself with looking under the helmets of these men, Your Grace, you would be surprised that your old friends have all been reassigned to other, more pressing duties today." She was surprised at the coldness of her own voice. She was doing this pretty good.

_A little too good, maybe? I must pay attention to not fall too much into old patterns._

She almost gave a start as a sad laugh escaped the Grand Cleric's lips. Elthina shook her head. "And here I was wondering why Patrick over there was much less chatty than usual. Well played, Sister Nightingale. So how does this end?"

"It ends with me and these men escorting you down to the Gallows where you will enter a ship taking you to Ostwick, where you will continue your duties as Grand Cleric of the Free Marches until Kirkwall is considered safe again."

Elthina shook her head sadly. "Ostwick? That's ridiculous."

"…and also quite calm and safe at the moment. It is only temporary, Your Grace."

"So, this means the Divine has plans for Kirkwall, I assume?"

Leliana's gaze remained completely neutral.

"I see," Elthina replied. "Let me guess: Even if you knew, it would not be your place to share that information with me?"

"I apologize, Your Grace."

She turned toward the statue of Andraste and sighed. "You know, I never imagined that this would be the way I left this place. Alone. Unnoticed. During a time of need."

"I apologize, Your Grace."

"Yes, you mentioned as much. Well…" she turned around. "It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice, so…"

The sounds of the doors being opened interrupted her. Leliana spun around to witness two people, a man and a woman, entering the chantry, breathing heavily.

_Maker's breath! The templars outside were supposed to let nobody enter anymore._ Anger flashed through Leliana's head. She hated it when things as carefully planned as this were forfeited by a surprise.

"Oh, such a shame." Elthina's voice sounded mildly amused – and indeed: when Leliana turned her glance from the unexpected visitors towards the Grand Cleric again, there was a broad smile on the elder woman's lips. "That would be Gaindrik and his wife. They do have a habit of showing up late." Her eyes were intent as she stared at Leliana questioningly. "And they show up  _very_  often. Such a shame that I will have to turn their pleas down now, isn't it? I do imagine that it will not sit well with Old Gaindrik witnessing how I would be forced to go now without a chance of a last council, a last talk about their worries. I presume he'll have a lot to tell about that at the Hanged Man – and all that while discretion is of such vital importance to you, right? But, alas, we  _are_ in a hurry, are we not?"

Leliana's mind raced, reassessing the situation. They  _could_  proceed, of course. It would be possible to find an excuse why the Grand Cleric had to leave right in front of her 'subjects' without any word. However: How plausible this excuse would be, she could not predict in the least.

On the other hand: Could there possibly be any harm in waiting a little longer? Let Elthina finish a conversation with her most devout city folk? She could already see one of the templars at the door all but rushing outside, undoubtedly with a pretty sharp message for his comrades at the front door. Someone was in for a lecture about following orders to the point…

She noticed that Elthina still looked at her with the question in her eyes.

Leliana sighed. "Alright, but make it quick."

It was only as she slowly went down the stairs step by step, that she noticed how she had forgotten the 'Your Grace' in that last statement.

* * *

"You…you don't have dealings with the Dalish themselves, right? It's Sundermount we are going for, not the camp…right?"

Merrill's question took Morrigan by surprise. She couldn't actually decide whether it was the curious phrasing or the mere fact that the girl had become unnaturally quiet during the past hour or so.

_The closer we get to her people… Now that is curious._

"And what if I told you I was? Looking for the Dalish camp, that is."

The girl's facial expression seemed a nuance closer at the brink of panic – but given the general nervousness in her face that impression might be deceiving.

"They…might not be very…cooperative…"

"I have met Dalish in the past. Their reserved attitude towards humans is not new to me. Nor is it something I would not be able to deal with."

"That's not exactly…"

Morrigan sighed. "Yes, I know. Look, if you fear me bringing any harm to your people, I may relieve you of that worry. I do not mean ill by them. My…mother, she taught me a certain respect for the Dalish people and their customs. I have no intention to contradict her."

… _at least in that matter._

Merrill looked a bit reassured – a truly annoying sight, which lead Morrigan to quickly add: "This respect for the People, however, does not extend to City Elves in the least."

"I'm not a…"

"…and certainly not to Dalish living and acting like City Elves. By their own choice."

_Seriously: Who would do that voluntarily?_

That, at last, seemed to have the desired effect and made the girl shut her mouth for a moment, possibly contemplating whether these words would include her. Morrigan hoped she would come to the right conclusion because she  _really_  had no idea how she could be any clearer.

And then came the arrow.

Morrigan had nearly missed the rapid movement slightly to the left – just in the middle between her and Merrill – but her reflexes did the work: In the fracture of a second she had rolled to the right and in one fluent movement raised her staff in protection.

"Fenarel?" Merrill's astounded voice rang in her ear. "Fenarel, it's me!"

Morrigan stared at the girl – and then at the two elves who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. More likely they had hidden behind the slope just ahead of them, but Morrigan preferred the 'out of thin air'-idea over the realization that she and Merrill had foolishly walked right into an ambush.

No matter what: Here they were – two Dalish elves, obviously hunters judging from the looks of their light and practical green armor. The dark-haired female held her bow ready, the arrow already notched. The man with the fair hair, however, he hesitated as he seemed to recognize the girl.

"Merrill?"

"Fenarel! You could have hit me!"

"No, he  _should_  have hit you," the woman grunted, not giving the slightest indication of lowering her weapon.

_A warning shot then._

Morrigan slowly rose up again, still ready to defend herself if need be.

"I'm so sorry, I should have warned you that it could come to this," Merrill whispered.

"That would have been a decent thing to do, indeed," Morrigan hissed.

She realized that this had possibly been the girl's intention when starting their earlier conversation, but even so: Why stammer around the subject when a simple 'Look, my people might try to kill us' would have sufficed just as good?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shout of the man named Fenarel: "What are you doing here, Merrill? I thought we made it very clear that you are no longer welcome after…"

He did not complete the sentence but his pained expression mirrored on Merrill's face, making it abundantly clear that both of them were well aware what would have followed.

_Interesting._

"We need to get to Sundermount. Look, Fenarel, we are not here for the clan. Just let us pass…"

"We will not let  _you_  go back there." The woman's voice. Angry. Vengeful. Interesting. "Have you not brought enough pain and sorrow down on this place?"

_So, there is a story behind that foolish façade of hers..._

Fenarel looked a little less agitated than his comrade – which was a good thing; otherwise this would already have turned into fight – though he did seem to share her concern: "Indeed, Merrill. What could you possibly want there that you have not already taken from us?"

There was a lot of pain on his face. Memories, obviously. But also a wound torn open by Merrill's return.

_An old friend maybe?_

"I don't want anything from there, I promise. I am just accompanying her."

For the first time since the conversation had started, all eyes fixed on Morrigan. She didn't like it. Not a bit.

"And what would a  _shemlen_  woman crave from these grounds?" Fenarel asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing good, I suspect," the woman added. "Speak up,  _shem_! What would you want here at Sundermount?"

Morrigan suppressed the rising anger. The tone of the 'ambushers' didn't sit well with her, but she forced herself to calmness. It was their place after all. Sort of.

"I am…" she started.

"She is Morrigan, daughter of  _Asha'bellanar_. And she demands your respect!"

The words hit like a whip out of nowhere, tearing through your flesh, the surprise hurting even more than the actual pain, a thunder roaring in a blue sky, ice suddenly running down her spine during a walk through the desert. Yes: All of that. At once.

Morrigan flinched and stared at the girl beside her incredulously.

_How could she possibly know?_

Merrill's facial features were hard and uncompromising now, the words uttered in a steady tone Morrigan hadn't witnessed before during their endless little journey. The girl had been nervous and insecure about literally everything.

Yet not of this.

There was not the slightest shred of doubt in her voice and the tone had made it absolutely clear that the elves were out of line daring to speak like that to a daughter of the woman the Dalish called  _Asha'bellanar_.

_Asha'bellanar! Blasted, how_ could _she know…?_

At least the words seemed to have the desired effect with the elves: after a moment's hesitation the two of them lowered their bows, reluctantly realizing that words like that were not just phrased lightly.

"Does…does Merrill speak true?" Fenarel asked, needlessly.

Morrigan stared at him blankly. "Yes," she managed with a voice a little more creaky than she had intended. "'Tis true."

The elf nodded slowly. "As usual, you do keep…interesting company, Merrill." He seemed deep in thought for a moment, possibly contemplating their fate. Then he sighed. "Well, we are on the move anyway. But I would like to avoid you running into the clan, Merrill. For obvious reasons." He turned his gaze towards Morrigan: "Would it be possible for you, Morrigan, daughter of  _Asha'bellanar_ , to wait a while longer until the clan is gone?"

Morrigan nodded numbly, still feeling light-headed and trying to find her balance. Merrill spoke up, but she barely even noticed.

_She haunts me. Even here._

"You are moving? But why? Why now?" Merrill blurted out.

"It is time. We have been staying here for too long. Half the clan blames this accursed place for all the ill that has befallen us since we arrived," Feneral replied sadly.

"Of course, the other half blames  _you_." The words of the Dalish woman. Her hard face didn't leave the slightest doubt which faction she belonged, too.

Fenarel sighed again. "We came here without home. We stayed here without the Halla. We leave without a Keeper. Appropriate. In a sad way."

"I…am sorry, Fenarel. I didn't mean any of this to happen, please, you have to believe me."

His eyes rested on her for a moment, then he nodded and broke out of the melancholy for a moment: "It is settled then. Wait here until I return."

And with that, they were gone.

Merrill seemed to brush a tear away that had come unnoticed by Morrigan. "I…am sorry. I should…"

"How?" It just burst out of her as soon as the Dalish were out of sight. "How could you possibly know that?"

The girl was hardly able to face Morrigan's angry glare.

_Nervous again? Good!_

"I…figured…"

"You figured what?"

"Well…you are named Morrigan...that's the name she mentioned…"

Icy claws seemed to grab at her throat. The dark cloud manifested rapidly. The old familiar feeling…

"She  _mentioned_?" her voice was hoarse, barely audible. "You…spoke to her?"

"Yes…" Merrill physically seemed to crack under her stare. "She…talked to us when we…you know…"

"Know  _what_?"

"When we…brought her back…"

The witch's face turned to stone. She did all she could to show no sign of the suffocating grip that held her. It was almost as if she could hear Mother laugh right here, right now – in her head.

_You knew this would happen, yet still she took you by surprise. Fool!_

"Tell me," Morrigan commanded as she sat down on the ground. Calmly. On the outside.

"Tell me everything right from the beginning."

* * *

_Finally!_

A sigh of relief nearly escaped Leliana as the doors behind the city folk were closed again. Elthina really had taken her sweet time with these two, talking for half an eternity it seemed. Whether Old Gaindrik and his wife really were in such a dire need for spiritual guidance or whether it had just been the Grand Cleric turning this into a long goodbye was hard to tell. Leliana hadn't listened in on all the details. It was not her place. She just needed to ensure that Elthina hadn't given any information about leaving to the couple, but the Grand Cleric had turned out to be a woman of honor in the end.

_She deserved this much._

Leliana had to admit that it was not exactly the nicest thing to do, carrying her away from her people like that, after all she had done – especially since the Grand Cleric had left no doubt that she was both: aware of the risk of staying  _and_  willing to take it to do her duty. But there was the big picture here, and no matter how hard, sometimes it did overrule all personal preferences.

_Sometimes it is not our call to make. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices._ Leliana knew this only too well.

Not much more to say. Leliana stepped back into the center of the hallway and noticed that the old woman already looked her way. For a moment she seemed to consider if there was really was no other way, but then she nodded towards Leliana.

_Good. Better be done with this. The faster I can get her to that ship, the faster I can go after Morrigan._

She had grown increasingly worried with that bit with every passing minute. Of course, the witch had stormed of like a wild bronto after their last conversation, but it was half a day's journey to Sundermount and it was already in the middle of the night. Surely the two women would not wander through the night, even if Merrill knew the territory quite well. They were bound to take a rest for the night somewhere. So if she acted quickly…

_If I can get a horse here and start to make a good run for it, I should be able to catch up with them._

The prospect of being forced to be all on her own in the wilderness did not frighten her. If the path should become unrecognizable at some point, she could still rest aside of the way.

_I would have to stay up for the whole night, but that's a small price to…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a cold shiver running down her spine. Just coincidentally her gaze had wandered through the hall while waiting for Elthina…and rested on the wall of the side-room. The one she had found oddly familiar before.

And all of the sudden she knew why.

_They were shaking. There was a bright red light…_

Her eyes widened.

_The dream!_

Her knees started to shake, uncontrollably.

_It's the walls from the room in my dream…_

She spun around towards the center of the room. "We need to go!" her voice was shrill, as panic began to rise.

"I know, Sister. I already said that I'm coming. There's just a few things…"

"No," Leliana screamed in panic, a reaction which made the templars turn their helmeted heads towards her synchronically, "We need to go  _now_!"

…and then the earth started to shake.

It was a soft sensation at first, but the utter quiet in the room made it sound louder than any thunder. Leliana barely remained on her feet when the first wave rushed through, standing there helplessly.

_No. It can't be. It can't be…_

"What's going on?" the perplexed shout of one of the templars echoed through the giant building, more and more trembling as the quake intensified.

Leliana just stood there, paralyzed.

_No. Please, Maker, no…_

She could see the terror in Elthina's eyes as her mouth formed words, immediately swallowed by the ear-splitting roar. The word were inaudible but she could read them on the Grand Cleric's lips: 'What is this?'

Breathing heavily, Leliana could feel tears filling her eyes as it all came together. She whispered: "It's my tomb."

…and then the earth broke open.

* * *

Fragments. Only fragments remained.

It was a curious thing: Leliana had heard people who claimed expert knowledge on life-threatening situations saying that time slowed down by the end and that your last moments would stretch endlessly. But they were wrong. It had happened much, much too quickly for her mind to grasp. And thus only fragments remained.

The bright red flame.

The crumbling.

Screams.

The chantry in the sky.

Flesh torn.

Fire.

Ashes.

Darkness.

She had jumped at one point. She could remember as much. Into the side-room maybe? Some alcove? No matter. Some place that would give some shelter as the remnants of the walls finally broke and crumbled down, a place that would maybe protect her.

It had been a foolish idea.

As the wave hit everything had been shooting out of everywhere at once. The impact of the massive stones must have smashed her body for she could feel nothing but pain where it used to be.

Then there was only darkness.

And she was alone in it.

She had tried to move, of course, but that had been a futile attempt only rewarded by excruciating pain in her torso. It felt like bleeding out from the inside. Maybe she was. It didn't matter. She couldn't move anywhere at all. The massive stone must have swallowed her.

Then she had tried screaming.

Bad idea.

Apart from her voice being nearly gone, this had only consumed air – air which ran shorter by the minute, air which was not actual air anymore, but only ashes.

She was in her tomb. The vision had not lied.

_Of course not._

But why couldn't it have been done after that? It surely had been for the templars gone in that magic flame. Why not her?

"Because it is not the end." She was wondering if it was actually her voice whispering or of it was just in her head.

_Better be in your head. Otherwise you are wasting breath._

Still, the thought was out: It was not the end, right? It couldn't be!

_And why not?_

The answer was obvious: "Because He still has plans for me."

_No. This was the plan._

The thought hit her right between the surely broken ribs. No, that was not possible.

_Why?_

"Because it would be pointless! Why should I die here? My life was supposed to have a point!"

_This_ is _a point._

It took a few moments to take that in, to process the thought. The explosion. The unnatural bright red flame. This was no accident.

"It was an attack!"

_Yes. It is how it starts._

Cold despair crept up her surely broken bones as she realized that she was right: This would be how it starts. A chantry destroyed, a Grand Cleric murdered…there would be no going back anymore.

"War."

_Yes._

"That cannot be the Maker's will!"

_And why not?_

It was hopeless. Every little straw she grasped to make sense of this, lead to a dead end. 'Why not', indeed! Who was she to judge whether a great war could be the Maker's will or not? History had shown that sometimes it was the only way…and how else could one describe the tensed situation before this if not as 'at the brink of war'?

And suddenly it all came together.

At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, long ago, the Guardian had questioned her faith. He had doubted that the Maker could have spoken with her – or so it had seemed. It had taken her some time to understand that his words actually  _never_  denied her vision, but only criticized her way to deal with it.

" _You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative. It made you special."_

" _The Maker spoke only to Andraste – do you believe yourself her equal?"_

It had been a test of faith and humility, not a question of truth. The Guardian's words had made her realize how she had elevated herself above others. And he had been right: While she  _should_  have acted humbled and grateful for the vision, she had let it get to her head. In her hubris she had shouted it out into the world proudly. Far too long she had wondered if the Maker's vision had made her like Andraste…a prophet maybe?

Yet here, today, she got the answer: She would be like Andraste in one way – she would be a martyr.

She wanted to say that this was impossible, that this couldn't be the point behind all this, but the voice in her head was right. In the end she had served a purpose.  _This_  had a purpose. Not in the way she had pictured it, but the Maker's ways could not be explained by the logic of mere mortals.

_It is done._

Yet there was one last glimmer of hope left, she suddenly realized.

"But," she muttered (or did she?), "But it still makes no sense! The Grand Cleric herself would be sacrifice enough to start it! Why would I make a difference?"

It was a selfish thought. Desperate. She hated herself for being so self-centered.

And yet it was a good point, right?

_There is a difference._

Of course there was and she knew it. It was all connected.

Elthina was a Grand Cleric, a figure of importance. But she, Leliana, was both the Left Hand and most trusted friend of the Divine  _and_  the lover of one of the most powerful apostates in Thedas. The two women she loved the most would be outraged at her death.

… _and there would be no way back. Both will be out for blood._

"No more compromise," she whispered to herself – and with that went her last hope for some magical last minute turn of events saving her this time.

_It makes sense. No more straws to clutch at. It is done._

"Yes, it is," she sobbed – or maybe the words were in her head too. She wanted to fight against them, wanted to find a flaw in that logic, a reason why this simply could not be the end. There were but ashes in her mouth.

She had always thought there would be some deep satisfaction when she finally fulfilled His purpose, but there was none. Acceptance was all there was left now. Humility.

The tears, at least, were real. And so Leliana cried as, at her very end of the road, she finally learned a lesson she should have known by heart long ago: Not all martyrs die as heroes.

_Some are just victims._


	4. Everything burns

**Back in the days, about six years earlier…**

"You can come out of there."

Morrigan gave a silent curse, surprised at the sudden words of the girl through the silence.

_How could she have heard me?_

It was ridiculous. Why was it just impossible to go out of camp in the middle of the night, walk for half a mile with hopes for a quiet midnight bath in the lake  _without_  running into one of her foolish companions who had gone to the  _exact_  same place to…well, just cry? Cry like a little girl. How befitting that it would be  _her_  of all people.

_It was my own mistake._

Indeed it was. She had had the chance to turn around unnoticed. For whatever accursed reason, curiosity had gotten the better of her and made her stay in the bushes and watch the Chantry girl's whimpering in the night.

"I said 'You can come out of there'! I can hear you there in the bushes."

The words broke into her thoughts. Well, she got what she deserved…

With a sigh Morrigan got out of her little hiding place and stepped forward. "I have to admit: 'tis quite a surprise that you would be able to hear  _anything_  through this pathetic wailing of yours," she said, careful to pour as much disdain as possible into her words. Better not make the girl hope for any sweet-talk here.

Leliana sighed. "Oh great. It's you." Her voice was fragile, even if she tried not to sound like someone who had just cried her heart out. "What do you want here?"

"Well, actually I came for bath. And it very well seems as if you are doing your best to make sure the lake does not run short on water."

"So you decided to hide in the bushes and gloat and now that you've been found out you resort to mocking and insults. How very mature of you, Morrigan!"

"If discussing maturity is what you wish: you may want to stop the sobbing, girl." With satisfaction Morrigan noted the first signs of irritation on the girl's face. Good. "And yet I do admit: 'tis oddly amusing to see how that annoying 'Cheery little Chantry girl'-facade of yours finally turns out to be as faked as I imagined."

Indeed in the few weeks since they had first met, Leliana had shown little more than awful silliness and superficial happiness, both reeking of lies. The more time she spent with that fool, the more Morrigan had hoped to tear down her disguise and see what a pitiful little nothing hid inside that shell. "And what might have brought you to tears, girl? Does the true world outside your little chantry be less of a fairy-tale than you imagined? Does the people's misery we came to witness on our way finally make you realize the futility of your beliefs? Or do you just miss your fancy Orlesian shoes?"

Leliana breathed heavily – as hurt as angry, surely. "You…wouldn't understand."

Morrigan laughed out: "Oh, would I not? What profound pain could possibly ail  _you_?"

"A love once had and now lost forever," she blurted out and immediately realized that she didn't want to. As if to cover that up she added defiantly: "Something that you will never comprehend, Morrigan."

_Of course. It is always the same with you fools._

"Oh yes. You do find me at a loss here for 'tis indeed something I will never comprehend. Because, unlike you, I do not believe in illusions – except those that I myself create. For love is nothing more than that, girl. Passion, desire – that is the true core of it. By adding the ridiculous notion of 'love' all you people do is make it soft. Love is not a feeling, girl, 'tis a disease eating you from inside. Love is weakness."

There was a moment of silence until Leliana rose up and looked her straight in the eyes: "That's really what you thing, no? Oh, Morrigan, how I pity you." And annoyingly there was indeed compassion on her face, not anger. "I pray to the Maker that one day you will break out of this lonely cage of fear that you've build for yourself and that you will find true love. On that very day, you will witness with your own heart that it's not weakness that comes with it but strength."

_Oh, this is just too easy._

"Oh, really? And tell me, girl: How strong will I be? Strong like you right now? Crying myself to sleep like a babe? Oh, what a fool I am to forsake such grandeur!"

Leliana shook her head sadly. "You don't…"

"…understand?" Morrigan laughed wholeheartedly. "Maybe 'tis so. Maybe one day your puny little tears will turn out to be a devastating poison against the darkspawn. But until then I feel comfortable by presuming that this…" she pointed to Leliana, "…is just what it looks like: a pathetic, helpless girl. And whatever story is behind that, I am confident that this 'lost love' of yours is far better off without  _you_."

That obviously stung. Morrigan could literally see more tears forming in the girl's face. Her voice was trembling.

"You know, Morrigan? I take that back. I will not pray for you finding true love. Because despite your cruel and hateful character, you are a human being and this means you  _will_  find love eventually, whether you believe it or not." She made a pause to wipe away a tear which just crawled down her cheek at what – for her – must be the worst moment. "What I will pray for, however, is that  _when_  you find that special person – that person who means more than anything in the world to you, the one who will make you regret all the things you said tonight – that  _this_  person will be taken from you in one way or another. That you will experience the pain and loss. That you will finally see what strength this love brought you…when it is gone.

"And when that moment comes, Morrigan," her voice was but a defiant whisper now, "When it comes and when your heart breaks, then you will beg that it's me sitting in the bushes and no one else. Because trust me: If you move on like this I'll be the only person left who will, despite your behavior, still feel any pity for you."

Surprised at the outburst, Morrigan still met her gaze in what she hoped was cold ignorance: "Rest assured,  _girl_ , if that day should ever come, you can shove your pity up your arse, because  _you_  will undoubtedly be the last person I would be looking for."

* * *

** Chapter 4 **

** _Everything burns_ **

 

"This is the place."

Merrill's little voice pierced through the dark mist of her gloomy thoughts, bringing Morrigan back to a not particularly less grim reality. She still felt dizzy and light-headed as she became aware of her surroundings, still shaken to the core by that which should not be, but of course was.

_She is back._

If nothing else, it was a simple point. And yet it entailed a terrible baggage, threatening to crush her: fear…and anger.

After she had heard the whole story in every detail again and again (the Dalish had taken their sweet time with moving out), her first reaction was to try directing all her anger towards Merrill – the girl who had done the deed. She had summoned her back. For that alone she wanted to curse her.

It was a frustrating and fruitless effort, though. Yes, the girl had done what she had done knowingly and out of free will, but that proved nothing beyond the already well-established fact that despite her knowledge in magic, the elven girl  _was_  a fool, playing with fire, unaware of the full consequences. Being angry with a fool for acting foolishly was like hating a fish for swimming – utterly pointless.

_Her careless nature will be her demise someday._

After that, she had tried to concentrate the wave on anger on this Hawke-person Merrill had named. Yet, what had he done except fulfilling his end of a bargain, which had provided him with his dear life? He had even less of a clue what he was doing and acted bound by honor.

_How does Mother always find people like that?_

So, no: she didn't blame him for doing something that she, too, would have expected of him had she been in a similar position like Flemeth.

_Only that I'm not._

Splitting a part of her self off as a backup-plan? She did not have access to this kind of magic. And given the true nature of her mother, she was not sure if she ever would.

_I only have this one body to go with…for now._

But now as they had arrived at the place of Flemeth's resurrection, finally, it had dawned upon her, who should be the rightful target of all her anger: herself. For letting her guard down like that. For being taken aback by something that she knew was bound to happen.

And for feeling afraid at the moment that she had heard that it was in fact true.

_She is back. I knew it. And still l it makes me shiver._

"Morrigan?"

She blinked as Merrill's voice reminded her where she was. That she had insisted to come here. For whatever reason.

Wordlessly she stepped closer to the stone, an altar of Mythal as Merrill had explained.

_Resurrected at the site of an ancient goddess. Of course._

As her fingers carefully touched the cold stone she wondered once again what had made her so curious to go here. What was she hoping to find? Traces of magic? Oh, there were plenty of those here, no doubt, but finding anything even remotely connected to her mother would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The Veil was thin here – no doubt that any particular traces of Flemeth's doing would be long lost among a sea of arcane energy.

_So what else?_

Closure? Ridiculous.

Signs? She could only laugh at the mere idea that Flemeth would have left anything that might give an indication of her plans.

_Think! You need to clear your head. Cold calculation – that is what you're looking for. Getting out of this fog._

"Look! It's still here."

Morrigan turned around and saw Merrill picking up something.

"It's broken though. That's too bad. It looked…nice, I think," she added nervously as she gave the amulet to Morrigan. The witch stared at it in wonder.

"Such a small thing…" she murmured to herself. Flemeth had outdone herself with this one. She had not seen it coming in the least. It was a foolish feeling, but still: holding the amulet in her hands, seeing it broken into pieces – it finally made things  _real_. Of course she had known, deep in her heart, that despite the best effort, the Warden would not be able to kill Flemeth for good. Of course her mother would have a way out. And of course Morrigan had prepared for that moment.

Only: Up until today she had assumed that she had gained a head start. That they had bought her time to prepare for the inevitable.

But if Merrill's information was correct they had resurrected her shortly after her supposed 'death' – buying her exactly  _nothing_. On the contrary: Flemeth would have about six years. Six years, in which she might already have reached out and gathered information about her rebellious daughter. Six years to prepare. Six years to find a trace. To scheme and search for a weakness. Six years to learn…

_Leliana!_

It was such a simple thought.

And it hit her like running into the brick wall that she  _knew_  had to be there, somewhere in the dark fog. Which made the impact not the slightest bit less painful.

_Blasted! If she knows…_

She could feel all the color leaving her already pale face. If Mother was out for vengeance, if she planned to hit her hard and unprepared, then…

"We have to go back," Morrigan whispered.

"What? What do you mean 'back'?" The girl sounded surprised.

"Back to Kirkwall."

"To Kirkwall? But…we just…I thought you were looking for something…" Merrill's voice only reached her ears partially while her mind was already racing.

' _This will be your tomb'._

* * *

"Morrigan, why…why are we running?"

" _I_  am running. What you do is your very own business, girl."

She had intended to sound cold, but at her momentary state she could not help but letting her anger and irritation drop into her words. She had no time for any foolish conversations, so the anger was – at least in Morrigan's book – justified.

But that was not the whole of it. Nor was it the fact that they had been making haste for hours on their way back, barely allowing for any short breaks, just switching between a trot and actual running. Her legs hurt, her muscles ached and she could already feel the blisters under her feet. So yes, she was exhausted and tired and out of breath, which did not help to improve her mood either. And yet, that was not it either.

Because even more annoying than all of that were all those thoughts constantly racing through her mind at the speed of a lightning.

For one, Merrill's question was not entirely unjustified: She could not know for sure that something was indeed amiss and that Leliana was in any immediate danger. She could have read the signs wrong, which – admittedly – had already happened at least once in the past few days.

_For all I know, everything is alright and I am just overreacting. Maybe she is not planning anything. Maybe she doesn't even_ know _about me and her._

But could it be mere chance? Leliana's dream, the warning that she, Morrigan, would be her end, all happening right here at Kirkwall, the very destination to which they had planned to travel together, but would be separated during their own personal tasks?

_Just long enough for Flemeth to make her move._

If indeed Flemeth had learnt of their connection – through the ravens they used or whatever dark ways she might have – she could've stricken at Leliana even in Orlais or during her one of her lone journeys, of course. But doing it  _here_ , while Morrigan was nearby and yet out of reach to prevent anything from happening…it sounded just too perfect.

_Too much like something Mother might do._

She gave a silent curse for absentmindedly giving her that title. Even if she had been the only person Morrigan had ever known that remotely resembled something like a parent, "Mother" was not a title this wretched, vile creature could ever earn.

_And yet she will pretend to be one when it's done._

Because when she came back to find Leliana…gone, Flemeth would not even admit that it was petty vengeance. No, she would sell it as a lesson. From a mother to her child.

' _You could not protect this bird either, see?'_

The mere thought was maddening, infuriating, clouding her mind. If this was true, she had been outplayed like a fool from the beginning. Had the dream been Flemeth's doing? Was the pirate wench part of it, too? It was possible, wasn't it? Flemeth could be very persuasive manipulating people into acting the way she desired – and Isabela struck her as the kind of person who did not even need much persuasion, except a few coins.

_Or am I just seeing enemies where there are none?_

…and amidst all these confusing, distracting, troubling fragments there was also one other notion that did not entirely escape her mind: the simple fact how, from moment to the other, Leliana had once more started to mean  _everything_. The moment she had left that accursed city, she had decided to not return at all, willing to leave her for good. Or had she not?

_She made me feel weak._

That had meant something in that moment, which seemed an aeon ago. It had meant that Flemeth had been right. But now?

_Now I'm running to get the weakness back._

Where was the logic in that? Why would she do that? Why expose herself like that and admit a weak spot when all her life she had been brought up to avoid that?

_Because that's what makes me different from_ her _._

As the thought struck her she stood absolutely still for a moment, unable to move. It was true: Being with Leliana had taught her more about herself than Flemeth had ever been able to – and if she lost her, she would lose an invaluable part of her self, something that had been her very own and not something that was a result of Flemeth.

"Morrigan?" Merrill's faint voice rang in her ears abruptly ending that line of thought.

"What?" she snapped, half expecting yet another unnerving triviality she just couldn't bear at the moment. "What do you want, girl?"

"There…there are people on the road.  _A lot_  of people."

* * *

Merrill had turned out to be right.

At first sight they had suspected that the caravan of dozens and dozens of carts filling the main road might have been the Dalish on their move, but as they approached there had been no doubt those were in fact humans. Easily more than a hundred of them counting the children, as there were whole families on the move. These were, of course, no merchants traveling together for a safer journey. No, they were city folk. City folk on a move. In haste. And most important: Moving away from Kirkwall.

They had been reluctant, fearsome even, when the two women had shown themselves on the road. Even now, as they were facing one big-nosed man of middle age, the ragtag group of wanderers – or more likely: refugees – remained skeptical and Morrigan noticed anxiety and utter fear on many of the faces staring at them right now.

"So you are  _all_  leaving Kirkwall?" Merrill asked, unnecessarily, with wide eyes.

She had taken over the conversation when making introductions had proven two things: for one, Morrigan was  _really_  not good with people, especially not right at the moment. And secondly: The citizens on the run had proven to be more afraid of her than of the girl. When people were more intimidated by your presence than by a Dalish woman out in the wilds, that was a very distinct sign that you would better tried to calm down and hold your breath. Because even if most of these people nervously holding their daggers, clubs or bows looked like they had never in their life used any of these weapons, someone might still make a mistake. And when the odds were one hundred against two people – well, it was a clear case of 'strength in numbers'.

However, Morrigan did not in the least feel like calming down. The mere presence of this scared horde of people fleeing the city could only mean the worst.

_But what?_

What could Flemeth have possibly done that would frighten off a whole city? She made a grimace when she noticed the mistake in that question, for there were few limits of  _what_  that woman might have done. It came down to the 'Why'.

"Yes…serah," the man stammered, obviously not sure of how to address a Dalish. "We've been on our feet for hours."

"But why? Why now? I mean…it's almost dark. Are you…running away?" Merrill had problems wrapping her head around things. Quite often so, Morrigan mused.

_And it will only get worse, girl._

The man stared at her blankly. "What do you mean? Haven't you heard…?"

"Heard what?" Morrigan snapped at him, instantly causing him to cringe. "Speak up, you fool! 'tis not so hard to comprehend that two women out in the wilds might not be up to the latest city gossip, is it?"

"The mages…the templars…" And suddenly he started blurting it out all at once, with some helpful reminders from the people around:

"…fighting all night…"

"…Orsino and Meredith, they are…dead, they say."

"…mages are out of control."

"…looters all around…"

"…Kirkwall's in ruins…"

It was hard to make any sense of it at all, yet from what she could gather it sounded as if a war had broken out inside the very city walls.

_Mages and templars. It is always the same story, is it not?_

But still, this time it was different. The two groups could be at each others' throats all the time for all that she cared, but the fact that Leliana might be somewhere inside that paralyzed her.

_Wait…what?_

Somewhere inside the unintelligible sea of voices all blabbering at the same time, she had heard  _something_ …

"What did you say?" she shouted at the woman, whose voice had stood out of the current of speech, not because of its sound, but because of its content. In an instant the voices around went silent. "Repeat, woman! Now!" she barked at the frightened girl, hoping that she might have misheard.

_It is a bad time for hopes and you know that._

"I…I was saying that…that it all started when…when they…The chantry…it is…gone. There was an explosion…"

…and then they were all gone. All the voices suddenly cut off by the nothingness in her head. She stood there, frozen to her core, oblivious to all the chattering around her. There was no sound, there was no breathing, there was nothing. It had all been taken away from her at the sudden realization that…it  _all_  had been taken away.

_The chantry._

A single thought in her otherwise numb mind.

_An explosion._

The dagger that had just pierced her heart felt cold.

_Her._

She could make out Merrill's voice, distant as an echo miles away. The girl was asking something about a person named 'Garrett' or something. It did not matter.

' _You could not protect this bird either…'_

She had not even noticed how she had moved away from the caravan. Her legs did what they wanted. Like walking in trance she moved down the street, past the carts and staring faces. Towards the city.

' _You could not protect this bird either…'_

Even after all these years the one thing Morrigan remembered most vigorously about Flemeth was that mocking laugh. The laugh of an ancient being, mocking her, a mere mortal for all the stupidity, all the foolishness, all the naivety in her little, little head.

' _You could not protect this bird either…'_

"Morrigan!" Merrill again. Morrigan did not even want to look at that fool, but did nonetheless. "Listen to me: Maybe – maybe she was not…"

She shot her a glance that silenced the girl instantly.

_Of course she was._

It was foolish to assume otherwise. Leliana  _had_  been in that chantry, she just knew it. There was no doubt about that.

_And no hope._

Suddenly, she spread her arms wide out because, ironically, right at this moment of utter numbness a thought had pushed its way through the Nothing. Something she should have thought about hours ago. Something that might have saved her some time. Despite the fact that it would not have made any difference, it had still been a foolish mistake.

_It matters not for it has been the smallest of my oversights in the past days._

Nonetheless, she still needed to go to Kirkwall. It was the last thing to do. And she needed to go there fast.

So she  _changed_ …and flew away from the baffled crowd. And a puzzled Merrill. But that was not important now. Nothing was important.

* * *

Disbelief.

That had been the First One: disbelief. Morrigan had not really paid any attention to the chantry during her earlier visit. No matter how tall and magnificent: buildings constructed by humans seldom made any significant impression on her. Especially chantries – what more were they than a monument to humanity's hubris? Trying to approach their god by architectural craftsmanship when, in fact, just creating a big building that scared people into obedience. It was pathetic, really.

But as underwhelming as the structure had been while it was there, as utterly inconceivable was what remained: destruction in its purest, most chaotic form imaginable. The remnants could not even be called "ruins" anymore – it was battlefield without corpses.

_Not entirely._

Somewhere, deep down in these piles of stones and rubble and burst concrete – somewhere there would be at least one corpse.

_Hers. I am standing on her tomb._

The thought had brought along the Second One: despair.

In retrospect, she could not even fathom what she had supposed to find here other than the very sight her eyes beheld. Some glimmer of hope? Some exit point where Leliana might have escaped?

And yet the hopelessness had struck her down hard. In a most pathetic display of denying the inevitable she had even fallen down on her knees, frantically starting to grab into the debris with her bare hands, searching. It was ridiculous and she hated herself for that – and for the fact that she hadn't even stopped for minutes  _after_  realizing the futility of that senseless act.

Incompleteness had been the Third One. And it had been the longest of all the feelings she had raced through at this sad and troubled place. Morrigan had just sat there for – what? Hours maybe? The pitch-black night had seemed to hint at that. It mattered not, for here she was: sitting there on the cold, dark grave of the person who had meant anything and who no longer was. And she asked herself  _what_  to feel right now. How could she feel anything when the sole person who had awakened any emotions in her was gone? When that part of her that was  _better_  than the Witch of the Wild…was no more?

Morrigan had never learned mourning. There had been no room for that back in the hut with the accursed old hag. And after that? Who had been there to mourn about? Flemeth? Ha! Surely not. The Warden? Possibly. Elissa Cousland had been the first person Morrigan had actually considered a friend, but when her end came, anger had taken the place of grief when that foolish woman had given death the preference over the way out Morrigan had offered her.

_Leliana was the only one. The one who mattered._

For the first time in two decades, Morrigan could feel hot tears trying to push their way out, but an instance before that happened, the old vow had proven too strong to overcome. The oath a young girl had sworn a long time ago.

_Never. Never will you have my tears again._

…and there it was: the Fourth and Final One.

_Hate._

It was a pure thought – and inside all the unfathomable maelstrom of emotions in her had, it felt good to finally find something pure and simple. All the insecurities were washed away by a current of boiling rage as she rose up.

_I will kill you._

Simplicity at last. When there was nothing else to do, nothing else to feel – there was still purpose.

_I will kill you, Flemeth. And I hope that you will come back once more because than I can kill you again. And again. And again. I will kill you until the end of my days because 'tis what you deserve. A thousand deaths, a million._

Slowly she moved forward, aimlessly, but with mad determination nonetheless. Where to? It didn't matter.

_And in between your deaths I will search_ them _. Your daughters. Your slaves. Your legacy. Or whatever you might see in them._

She did no longer question in how far she was any different than the other ones. She just was. Or at least she had been until that gift had been violently taken away from her. Now she was different in another way.

_I will search them and they will not even know what hit them. But you will. And one by one they shall all perish at my hands. And then when they are done for and it is you alone, I will go after your precious little amulets and trinkets and what other safeguards you may have built and destroy them one by one. I will massacre all that follow you, annihilate all pieces of whatever grand scheme you are playing at. I will burn your children and cleanse Thedas of every little trace of you. And then…when there's only one left of you - then I will come after_ you _, you foul, abhorrent old whore. And when this world is purged of every little trace you left and you and I finally meet alone for one last time…_

Her breath was calm again. Purpose.

… _you will learn what real suffering means._

"So, come out!" it was not actually intended to be spoken out aloud, but she no longer cared. If Flemeth was here, watching her, hoping to see her little lesson unfold – then she would be in for a treat. "Come out if you dare."

"What  _is_  going on here?"

Morrigan spun around, grabbing her staff in mid-movement before she even noticed that it was a male voice speaking, not the old raspy tone she had prepared for. The silhouette of a man became visible and Morrigan tensed.

_A guardsman?_

As the man drew nearer, she could make out that he was indeed armored, carrying a sword at his side which was still in the sheath. Not drawn yet, but he had the hand on the hilt. And a few breaths later she recognized his armor. She didn't even need to actually see the flaming sword.

_A templar then. Great._

She remained calm. After all, she had dealt with his kind before and if she had been ready and willing to face Flemeth just a few moments ago, she could hardly be impressed by a simple man with a sword, right?

„'tis none of your business," she replied coldly, "which is why you would better be leaving now, boy." she added as he strode closer by two steps, the little pale moonlight revealing a young face with Fereldan features and short blonde hair.

"I don't think so," he proclaimed, his hand still on the sword hilt. "I am a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order and this…" his eyes fixated the staff in Morrigan's hand warily "…this seems _very_  much like my business. Who are you and would you be doing at this place?"

Morrigan gave a short laugh. "Believe me, you really do not wish to go down this road." Part of her, she noticed, was hoping for him to ignore that and play the brave man – a target to hurl all her rage at. It was not Flemeth, but for the time being he would have to suffice.

"Threats do not work well with me, woman", he said. "I'll ask you one more time: Who are you and what would you be doing at this place?"

_Fine. Your way then, templar-boy_.

"Wait! Stop there. She…she is with me," Morrigan almost gave a start as a tiny voice behind her called out. A silent curse was on her lips – less irritated because it was without a doubt Merrill speaking, but more by mere fact that she had been sneaked upon by the second time within minutes.

_If Flemeth were here, you'd be dead by now, Morrigan. Concentrate!_

Merrill closed up on her quickly, directing her voice at the templar.

"Please, serah, you have to…," she hesitated for a moment, "Wait, you…I know you, don't I? You are Cullen? Captain Cullen?"

"That's  _Knight_ -Captain Cullen," the man grunted, but after taking a look at the girl, there was indeed a hint of recognition. "Oh, it is you. Hawke's girl, right?"

Morrigan, her eyes still fixed on the templar, could picture the girl next to her blushing, as if that were a title of honor.

_Foolish, foolish girl._

Even so: The templar did seem to relax after identifying the elven girl as a familiar face.

"Yes…yes I am." Merrill blurted out. "And please believe me, captain…knight-captain, I mean, anyway…please believe me: This woman is not your enemy. She is…a friend of mine…and so she is also…a friend of Gar…Serah Hawke, I mean."

The man named Cullen made a pained grimace. "I am afraid but that might not mean as much as it used to, serah."

Merrill's eyes opened wider, if that was even possible. "What…what do you mean? Garrett, he is not…he is not…?"

"No, no." The templar replied, obviously trying to calm her down. "No, he is alright. At least the last time I saw him. I meant the thing about 'being a friend of the Champion' does not mean as much as it used to, you know."

Merrill looked puzzled. "I…I don't understand."

Cullen frowned at her. "You mean, you don't  _know_? Don't you have any idea what happened last night?"

Merrill shook her head wildly. "No, we were at Sundermount. We just heard about it when we got back. I overheard some people talking about a rebellion…and a great fight in the Gallows. And the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter being dead. And the chantry being destroyed, but I…"

" _Your_   _friend_ , he destroyed the chantry," he stated, with the same pained expression on his face as before, "The mage. The…crazy one."

Morrigan blinked. 'He' destroyed the chantry? A man?

_One of her lackeys? Does she have other mages at her whim now?_

Merrill's jaw dropped open as she slowly processed the words. "Anders? He did this? No…no, he would not…" But she stopped there, obviously doubting herself what she was about to say. "By the Dread wolf, how…how…"

She did not listen any further. Their voices became faint background noises as the name echoed back in Morrigan's head.  _Anders._ It didn't ring any bell, of course, but she repeated it silently nonetheless. This would be a name she'd never forget. It would be forever branded onto her heart.

_It is the name of the man who murdered her._

"Where is this man?" The sudden sound of her own voice surprised not only herself, but both Merrill and Cullen, too, who seemed to have entirely forgotten about her presence.

"We do not know," the templar answered, eyeing her suspiciously. "Fled the city, I suppose."

"But Garrett…what about him?" Merrill's voice was a squeak, completely overwhelmed by the developments.

"Disappeared, too, I fear." The templar shook his head sadly, compassionately focusing the girl. "I apologize, but given the situation I should not even be talking to you, serah," his glance wandered over to Morrigan "…or you."

"We…I must know where he is. And she…she has lost someone during the explosion, we…we are innocent, captain. Knight-Captain. We were not even here when…" There was a lot of panic in her voice.

_Calm down, you fool. That is not what he means._

At least she hoped it was not.

"Please," Cullen made a soothing gesture, "I do not doubt your word, serah." He turned to Morrigan: "…and I am sorry for your loss. We all have lost friends last night." The condolences seemed sincere on the surface, but there was a faint hint of a frown, suggesting that he was trying to figure out whom someone like her might have possible lost  _here_.

_I wouldn't have believed it myself a few years ago. Her and me…it was impossible from the start. And yet we_ made _it possible._  Anger returned at the thought.  _Until it was taken away._

"All I am saying is," Cullen continued. "…you two might not be safe in this city. Like I mentioned, I should not even be talking to you, others might be less reluctant. So, for your own safety and out of respect for the Champion and what he did here: You should leave this place. And the city." He looked around suspiciously, as if to reassure himself that no one had witnessed this. "So, I will go now – and so should you. As far as I am concerned, this conversation never happened."

And with that he turned around and vanished in the dark.

For a moment the two women just stood there in utter silence. Morrigan's head was pounding. It was way too crowded inside there: all the new information mixing with the riptide of emotions.

_Concentrate._

She did. And with a face like stone, she turned towards Merrill. "Where do we find him?" she said icily. "Where do we find Anders?"

* * *

"'tis open."

Morrigan's voice seemed much more controlled than her state of mind felt like, showing no hint of her actual surprise at finding the Hawke Estate unlocked. It had been a long shot after all, going straight to the man's place – one she had only agreed to take after it had become clear that there were, in fact, no other leads.

Merrill seemed convinced that Garrett Hawke must have left a message for her either here or at her place. In Morrigan's mind chances were just as high that the man had left this city in a hurry as long as the templars had their hands full (the circumstances left aside, he  _had_  killed their leader after all).

_And why not take the additional benefit of getting rid of a little girlfriend who he might no longer find as entertaining as he used to? It works this way, does it not?_

"So he might be here!" Merrill proclaimed excitedly (and much too loudly for Morrigan's liking). She might just have cheerily applauded like a little child from the looks of it. No, Morrigan decided, the thought that her man could have just left would obviously never cross her mind.

_Fool. Pathetic fool._

Just as the girl was about to grab the doorknob herself Morrigan quickly got her hand in between Merrill and the door. "I will go first. You wait here," she whispered.

"But…the door is open! That means he is in there, doesn't it?"

"Or someone else. Someone who should not be there. I will take a look." She shot Merrill a glance that suggested accepting this as an order and thankfully the girl obeyed reluctantly. After all, there was not exactly much logic to the request, but the girl seemed too intimidated by Morrigan's look to object (if it had actually occurred to her). Even if there was somebody else in the house, why should Morrigan be the first choice to go in there?

_Because He might be in there._

It was an off chance, she once more told herself as the door opened and she slipped into the building. Probably he was long gone. Most likely she would search and hunt him down for months. And yet: the whole idea that he could be in there right now, hiding…

_Leliana's murderer._

Again the battle started. Ever since their meeting with the Knight-Captain and the revelation of who had done all this to her, she was fighting with herself, the raging anger calling out to her from the bottomless pit of hate, trying to pull her down again.  _Making me give in again…_

People often considered mages to be exceptionally vulnerable because all too many could not resist when the demons called, but Morrigan had learned that any mortal being was subject to its inner demons, mage or not. And, oh, how alluring they could be. If she just gave in to blind hatred, she could do so many, many things to this man. He would make him wish that  _he_  had been in that chantry…and she knew ways that this feeling would last days before finally granting him death.

_A long and painful death, which will take another day or two until fulfilled. But during that time he'll not have the chance to_ think _of anything anymore. Just to feel…_

She violently shook the thought away. No, she needed to focus.

As she silently sneaked through the entrance room, she could make out a bright light coming from the room to the left, right above her, and a smaller one from the main hall where a candle had been lid on the table at the center of the room. Good. Whoever was here was being careless. If it was him, it should be possible to take him by surprise.

_Knock him out. And then when he wakes up he will wish he had not…before he starts to squeal like a pig._

Once more it took all her energy to fight down the riptide. To resists the pit. She had to remind herself how giving in to her emotions could have lead to an attack from behind (twice!) at the ruins. She needed rationality. And she needed answers.

As she soft-footed stepped into the main hall, she could make out that the bright light in the rooms to the left was indeed the only other source of light beside this candle. No voices. So it seemed to be a single person.

She pressed herself against the wall, taking a careful peak into the rooms with the light. Candles at the table – and further up where a staircase lead. No sounds of any kind however. With a quick movement she rushed into the room, right around the corner she had already seen empty. With her back pressed against a bookcase, there was no chance for anyone to get behind her. But the room seemed empty.

_Only one place left then._

She fixated what lay at the end of the stairs, but could not make out more than what was immediately behind the railing. More bookcases. But the room had to stretch on a little behind that, after all she had seen the light from above in the entrance room.

Once more she suppressed the urge to act on impulse and run right up. After all, that was the place where the intruder would be, right? He would be trapped.

_Calm down. You have to be quiet._

She needed to surprise him, overwhelm him if it was indeed Anders. And then…

… _then I need him in a good enough shape to question him first._

That was the bitter part, the one where she would need all of her strength to not be overwhelmed and do something stupid once she had Leliana's murderer in her hands. Before he would get what he deserved, she needed to  _know_.

_I need to know if he acted under her command._

Not that it would change anything for him, but once her head had cleared a little after the encounter with Cullen and after forcing Merrill to tell her about Anders, she had started to doubt. Could it all have been a misinterpretation? Could the man have acted on his own and not on Flemeth's leash?

Destroying a whole chantry in the middle of a big city to kill one person  _did_  seem an odd choice for something Flemeth would arrange. It lacked subtlety and style. And what actual evidence did she have for the Witch of the Wild to be involved at all? The fact that she had been resurrected near this place, years ago? It did seem a bit far-fetched now.

_There was the dream, of course._

But even that was a precarious assumption. After all, the dream had mainly consisted of images from Leliana's past. The prison, her captor, Marjolaine…how could Flemeth possibly know about that?

_Maybe she didn't? Maybe she just needed to step into it and project an image of you at the end. Careful Morrigan, there is still a lot you do not know about her magic._

But as she carefully moved up the stairs, she could not help but wonder if she had read it all wrong. Had she simply panicked when realizing that Flemeth had been a step ahead of her all the time – resurrected long ago while Morrigan had assumed that she still had some time? Or had she just  _wanted_  to connect her mother to all of this? And if so: why?

_Do I still crave her attention?_

That could not be possible. No, it was foolish. If she  _had_  misinterpreted the signs then it had been out of caution. To prepare for the worst. If it turned out to be just a simple mad mage who had done this, then it would make it all the more easy.

_But I can kill_ him _only once._

It was a troubling thought. Yet it was still one she had to push aside – at least for now. Her body tensed as she took the last steps…

…but there was nobody. She could not believe her eyes at first, but the room was indeed…empty.

_That is not possible!_

She took a few steps forward, but there was nothing to be seen. Bookcases, a few cabinets, an ugly statue, but otherwise…emptiness.

_Did I miss him? Is he gone already?_

Then she saw the huge cask to the left, large enough for a person to hide behind. If she had been too loud and alarmed the person in here…

Carefully she took a few steps towards the cask, holding her breath. But as she got closer, it became more and more evident that nobody was there.

_That is not possible. The candles, they've all been lid recently._

Of course, that still left the chance that someone  _had_  been here and she had just missed that someone by half an hour or so. It fit in nicely with all the bad timing she was having recently.

_Blasted!_

She gave an irritated grunt. It would have been too easy, wouldn't it? When she had entered the building the light had seemed like a beacon of hope, showing her exactly where to look, unless…

… _unless it's a trap!_

She spun around with a curse as the thought hit her…and froze instantly as she stared into the face of a woman. Well, it wasn't exactly the woman that brought her movement to an abrupt halt, but the blade at her throat.

"Careful there, wild girl. This thing is sharp," Isabela's voice was calm and steady – like the hand holding the dagger..

"You!" Morrigan managed.

"Yes, I do get  _that_  a lot." Isabela smirked.

_She hid in the dark – and you walked right into the light. Fool, fool, fool!_

"You might want to reconsider pointing that at me, pirate. As far as I remember you do know what I am capable of," Morrigan spat out, making an effort to remain a cold and dominant posture despite her situation.

"Yes, I know. I also know that a cut throat works on mages as well as on everyone else," she replied. "You can trust me on that, witch. I've witnessed it a few times… _very_  recently. Now you tell me: What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the very same thing."

"You might. Next time. When it's you holding the dagger. Let's start this again: What are you doing here?"

"I am looking...for someone," Morrigan replied without giving that woman the pleasure of blinking. Or moving a muscle.

"Oh, don't we all? It's one of those times…"

"Isabela!" a tiny voice interrupted her, sparing Morrigan from hearing another without a doubt clever and witty remark. Morrigan's eyes wandered over to the stairs, where Merrill's head appeared.

_Of course she wouldn't just stay outside._

"Merrill?" Isabela sounded truly taken aback, "You're alive? Kitten, we…"

It was just the fracture of a second. A little moment of distraction. The split second, in which even someone like Isabela would reflexively feel the urge to turn around towards the one she was speaking to. She noticed that mistake at once, of course, but it had been enough. Just as she turned back to Morrigan the invisible wave of the Burst hit her body and hurled her back, disappointingly not hitting the bookshelf but throwing her to the floor nonetheless.

Before she could even look up again, Morrigan was prepared, her hand sizzling with the sparks of the Lighting.

_Who is holding the dagger now, pirate?_

She moved a step back so that she had both, Isabela and Merrill in plain view. Not that she expected the elven girl to make a move, but she had been careless one time too often in the past hours.

"'tis, I believe, now your time to give me an answer, pirate wench," Morrigan muttered calmly. She looked Isabela straight in the eyes, not making the mistake to let her out of her sight for a second. "I am looking for a man named Anders."

Isabela snorted. "Now, you are hardly the only one doing that. But what would  _you_ want with…," she stopped in mid-sentence as a realization dawned upon her. "Oh, right."

The pirate sighed as she – unasked – rose up again. Morrigan let her when she recognized that the woman had not taken up her dagger again. "Now listen, Morrigan. I am sorry what happened to Leliana, but you…"

" _You_  will not speak her name, whore!" Morrigan's voice was thunderous – a nice touch, considering the lighting pulsating in her finger. Yet the outburst was not intended.

_Stay calm. Concentrate._

"…and I did not ask for your pity," she continued in a much colder tone, "I asked for information."

"So that you can kill him? To accomplish what, Morrigan? Vengeance?"

"Justice."

Isabela chuckled humorlessly at something. "Yeah, you people mix that up a lot. Always the one, never the other."

"Stop talking this foolish nonsense and answer the question."

"You know what?" An unusual seriousness was in the pirate's voice. "I don't think I will. 'Stop this nonsense', I mean. And you know why? Because I've had enough of this shit. Anders gets bullied his whole life and decides the best way to deal with that is blowing up a building with a bunch of people who never even lay hands on him. In return, Meredith decides to wipe out all the mages who had nothing to do with that shit. Which leads to Orsino going all blood-mage and killing other people who had nothing to do with anything. So everyone is at everyone else's throats, killing hundreds of totally unrelated people because apparently that is  _justice_. And now you come along and decide to go after Anders. I am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. She was a really, really nice gal. Believe me: I liked her a lot and it pains me to see her end this way. But  _this_  will not bring her back. It's just the same crappy story in that same circle of shit."

"No! 'tis different!" Morrigan barked.

"Yeah? How so? Because this time it was you getting a kick in the arse? Because this time it was not a stranger going down but someone that you knew?"

"BECAUSE I LOVED HER!" she shrieked – and then abruptly fell silent as the words echoed through the room.

_I…what?_

She could literally feel her jaw dropping at the realization of what had just happened.

_I…loved her?_

The words felt unreal because she had never uttered them in her life. Who had been there to say them, too?

_I loved her. I loved her…and I never even told her._

For the second time in the past few hours Morrigan was fighting back tears as a faint voice resonated in her mind. Leliana calling her name. Possibly the last word she had said before she…

_I had three years._ More _than three years. And I never told her how I felt._

She almost wished that someone would say something, but Isabela and Merrill just stood there, aghast at what they had just heard. Even they seemed to notice how utterly foreign these words were to her.

_Because I've been brought up to never say them, never feel them. All my life I have fought against becoming what Flemeth wanted me to be. And then I finally met_ her _. The one that changed it._

It was getting harder and harder to hold back the tears.

_The one I loved. And I never told her. I am cursed._

She tried to grasp at something. The riptide. The pit. She would have taken any emotion, but this one. But they were not here. No rage, no hate, no vengeance. Just the void. The only truth there was: that something was missing. Something that could not be replaced. And no one there to blame but herself.

_She wanted me to say it. And I never did. I always thought the time would come…and now that it did, 'tis too late. Only two strangers to hear the words that were meant for her._

Again she could hear Leliana's voice in her head, desperate as she might have been in that last moment.

_She must have known it, right? Even without me saying it…_

It was clutching at a straw, nothing more. Sure, Leliana might have known it in her heart. But Morrigan had denied her the chance to hear the words out of her mouth. The words Leliana desired to here more than anything else. The words she had  _deserved_  to hear.

_Please, she_ must _have known it…she must…_

She had failed.

No matter whom she hunted, whom she killed. No matter what she tried to make it right, she had failed. And as Leliana's voice calling her in vain sounded through her mind again she knew one thing: It would never go away.


	5. Ashes

**Back in the days, six years earlier…**

Even though the girl was moving silently as ever and even through the crackling sounds of the last campfire, Elissa could hear her approaching. She hadn't considered that anyone else was still awake. Yes, tomorrow everything would come to an end – either the Blight or their battle against it – and that thought alone had kept all of her followers awake for the most of the night. Yet when they all had gone back to their tents she had expected her companions to get at least a little sleep. Well, obviously not all of them…

"Come sit with me, Leliana. No need to hide."

She did step out of the shadows with a few seconds of hesitation.

"I wasn't hiding. If I  _had_  been, I'd have been silent enough not to disturb your brooding."

Elissa smiled.

_Of course._

The girl sat down next to her nonetheless. For a moment there was absolute silence, but it didn't last. Of course.

"I came here because this might be one of the last chances to see you, no? Tomorrow you'll be gone – or Alistair or Riordan if I understood correctly."

_How could she know about…_  Elissa interrupted her own thought. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"I see someone has been eavesdropping again?"

"I…might have overheard a thing or two. Accidently."

They both barely suppressed a chuckle. Then the silence again. And again it was Leliana breaking it.

"So, I assume if Riordan fails, it's going to be you, yes?"

_Good Leliana. Of course she would have sensed that I am not going to send the future king of Ferelden to his doom._

"You assume correctly. And in part I blame you for that."

"Me? How so?" The girl's facial features actually showed hints of genuine surprise at the mere thought of that.

"Well, before all of this happened I used to be nothing more than a spoiled brat. Not exactly the shining example of a Cousland. But I do think that I grew better in the past year – and I think that to be a result of the people around me. You, for example."

Leliana blushed. "I can hardly see what I have brought to the table."

"Unshakable faith. Actual belief in what you are doing with all the consequences. Tell me: After Lothering didn't you ever have any doubts?"

"Doubts about what? About me? Constantly. About my path and my choices? All the time. About the Maker? Never."

Elissa glanced at her. "That is…admirable. You never thought you might meet a horrible death when going with us?"

Leliana shook her head: "No. Ever since He rescued me from that place of pain, death and…worse…" Her voice grew silent, as she shook away the memories, probably. "Ever since that I just knew that he had a plan for me and that I would not fall until I've fulfilled it. After all: What would have been the point in saving the miserable person I was before if not for a purpose?"

Elissa looked at her as Leliana stared into the flames. At the beginning of their journey she had thought the bard was pretty full of herself – a conclusion that came with the whole 'The Maker himself speaks to me'-thing. But she had learnt since then. Yes, Leliana did think that she was special – but not in an arrogant, self-elevating way, it seemed. With all the consequences whatever they might be. After all in Leliana's head it wasn't yet clear of whether that purpose would entail happiness or pain for her. The Guardian's words might have something to do with that. Or she had just misinterpreted the bard's behaviour before. Now, it seemed, Leliana would accept everything that He would send her way. Even if her purpose would turn out to fall at the Archdemon, tomorrow. Her faith seemed unshakable.

"I do admire you for that."

The girl smiled. "That is nice of you to say. But you have been much more inspirational to other people than I could ever be, Elissa, Warden of the Grey. People look up to you. Whatever you were before the Blight, you are someone much stronger now."

"Yet  _I_  have had doubts about my actions and choices all the way up until here. I still do."

"But you did the right thing every time I looked."

_Oh, you have no idea._

Elissa sighed and then she fixated her companion. "Leliana, would you think less of me if I told you that, back in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, for the fracture of a second I was unsure of whether…you know…accept Kolgrim's offer and pour the blood into the Ashes?"

Silence.

Then her voice. In a mild tone.

"Temptations lie everywhere, Elissa. And yet you did resist and let your heart guide you."

"But what if I hadn't? What if I had chosen otherwise?"

Leliana turned her head back to the flames and stared into nothingness. "I wouldn't have let it come to that, Warden."

"You would have stood up against me? Against us?"

"Yes, until my last breath."

"You would have  _fought_  us?"

"Yes."

"You…against me, Sten and Morrigan?"

"Yes."

"You would have died!"

"No, I would not." the girl stated matter-of-factly. And a faint hint of sadness in her voice she added: "Believe me: I never do. Not until He decides it's my time."

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**_Ashes_ **

 

A windmill. Now, that was nice, was it not?

_I once took a ride on the…Wait, what?_

Leliana blinked and rubbed her eyes; the traditional way to verify something you had just seen but couldn't believe to be real – used by every person ever since the dawn of mankind. Also: futile.

Of course the scenery did not change once she had opened her eyes again. The windmill was still there. So were the blue sky and the green grass.

_Better than flames or stones, I suppose._

The returning image of her last memory before everything had faded into black should have brought up panic. It did not. She was calm, absolutely calm.

After taking a few breaths (and foolishly trying the blink-thing again) she considered rising up. It was not an easy decision to make, given that her last memories would suggest her body being totally broken by the collapse of a giant building – or horribly burnt. Not exactly the best state to move a muscle.

But all things considered, the alternative of just lying around and waiting to die out of boredom didn't seem a much better prospect.

So she tried. And noticed that it was surprisingly easy. Far too easy. Getting up wasn't that  _fluent_  even when in perfect health. In fact her body didn't seem to have any feeling. Any at all.

_Like in a dream. Or…death?_

Her surroundings could be explained by both: everything certainly seemed unreal. The grass of a perfect green she had never ever seen like that in all her life. The windmill's sails in perfect, smooth motion (despite the absence of even the slightest breeze). A sky in baby-blue with a rainbow (of course) and a not-warming sun. A single bird up in the air. A rainy cloud nearby. It was like…

... _a scene_   _in a children's book._

The thought was not far-fetched at all: Leliana did remember having a book like that. In another lifetime. Well, probably two or three lifetimes ago – she had lost count at some point. More often than not she was surprised that she remembered that little girl at all…it seemed like a completely different person.

Then she saw the bush.

She couldn't really say whether she had just overlooked it at first or whether it hadn't been there a second ago – also she decided that it didn't make any difference in place like that –, but once she did notice it there was not the slightest fragment of a doubt. It was  _the_  bush. Grey, twisted and gnarled, the ugliest thing that she ever saw. With a single beautiful rose.

_The rosebush in the Chantry. The one that started all this. But, does that mean…?_

Before she could finish the thought the rose started to wither.  _Very_ fast.

_Oh. That can't be good, right?_

"So, is this it?" she shouted, almost shocked at her own voice echoing through the silence. "Is this death?"

"Well, I  _did_  tell you that this would be your tomb, did I not?"

Leliana flung her whole not-really-body around, her heart beating faster at the sudden presence of another being.

Morrigan!

She had feared to never see her face again just moments ago – and now that she did it seemed to leave her strangely…unaffected. Then her mind began to grasp what the witch had just said.

_My tomb._

"The Chantry? That's what the words were about? Maker, how should have seen  _that_  coming?"

Morrigan laughed. It was the disdainful, condescending laugh that she had heard more often than not back in the days of the Blight. She had hoped to never hear Morrigan laugh at her like that again.

"'tis ironic, you know? How  _you_  of all people cannot seem to fathom the difference between a  _warning_  and a  _prophecy_. At what point did I ever promise that you would 'see it coming'? It was a piece of information, not a warning, Leliana."

Leliana stared at her blankly. She did have a point. Still…

"Who  _are_  you?"

"I imagine you might have figured that out by now – if nothing else."

"That is not an answer. And…," she paused for a second, "…and no: You cannot be the Him if you mean that."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Curious. And why could I not be Him, I wonder?"

"Because He never spoke directly to me like you do now. Never."

The laughter. Again. Mocking her. "For a person who uttered claims that – despite all the Chantry's teachings – the Maker himself spoke to her, you do have a strangely limited understanding of which modes of communication I would allowed to use with you and which not."

"And yet you still avoid answering my question in a downright way." Her head might have started to hurt, but – at least for now – her mind was still sharp enough.

Or at least so she thought.

The smile on Morrigan's face faded…a little. "Smart girl. Indeed I did not."

"Then at least answer me this – if you actually can: Is this yet another vision – or am I dead?"

"The answer is all around you. You might already have given it to yourself."

_No answers. Only more riddles._

And then, suddenly, as if triggered by Morrigan's words, she could feel her head slowly rising up. It was no conscious movement – in fact as soon as she noticed it, she tried to fight the involuntary motion – but it felt like her head was forced to look up…just as if being  _pulled_. Like one of those puppets on the string...those… She knew that she  _should_  know the word, but for some reason she could not find it in her mind.

_I hope this is not the end. This place is_ really _messing up my head._

"Oh, there are people who would claim that your head was already messed up before, are there not?" Morrigan replied as if reading her thoughts (and probably doing precisely that).

"People say a lot of things," Leliana said, still trying to force her head down.

"True. 'tis no proof that they are wrong, though."

_No. It is not._

Already Morrigan was out of her field of vision as she started to glance higher and higher into the strange sky.

"What are you doing, girl? Why are you trying to look up?"

"I'm not! In fact, I am…"

But the words stuck in her throat as she noticed that she was indeed the one raising her head while, in truth, the invisible puppet-string tried to pull it  _down_. How could she possible have missed that?

"Leliana, my dear, why do you turn away from me?"

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she recognized that voice. Marjolaine.

_So you are changing your appearance again?_

The invisible force pulling her head down increased, but so did her own efforts to do the opposite. Whatever was up there to see – it was much more inviting than  _her_.

"Oh, Leliana, you used to be so much more fun when you weren't trying to question everything!"

_Yes, I'm sure I was. Also much more gullible._

Constantly fighting the urge to lower her view, she wondered what it was that unwittingly made her search for the answer in the sky. There was nothing there, really. The rainbow, the strange sun, the rainy cloud. There literally was nothing of significance.

Except…

_The bird! The single bird!_

"Leliana, my dear, please stop it. Come back to me…" The voice sounded more anxious now.  _Good._

"It's a nightingale, isn't it?" It took all her effort to utter the words.

"You can't possible see that from here, dear! It's miles away!"

_No, I cannot see. But I_ know _it is. Because this is how it works._

"Leliana…" A glimpse of anger in Marjolaine's voice.

_Don't let her get to you._

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"The nightingale's flight is not yet over."

" _The nightingale's flight is not yet over."_

Her eyes sprang open when she suddenly heard the second voice repeating the words…no, not repeating: saying the words  _with_  her. She knew that voice.

_Dorothea!_

In one fluent motion, she spun around to find the Divine and a couple of other persons, hooded in white robes, all kneeling as if they were praying to her – or  _for_  her?

" _The nightingale's flight is not yet over,"_  they repeated the words in unison.

A smile appeared on Leliana's lips as comforting warmth returned into her non-body.

_I knew it! I am not dead yet. I am at a crossroads, right?_

"'tis true." The person right behind her said, now once more in Morrigan's voice.

_Shifting shape ever more quickly now, huh? This development is not to your liking, yes?_

"'tis true. You are at a crossroads. The question would be – which way do you intend to follow?"

" _The nightingale's flight is not yet over._ " The voices of the community again.

Leliana turned towards Morrigan again, smiling. "What do you think?"

The witch looked at her without any visible emotion. "I do think that you are about to make a great mistake."

"Why? Because I would choose life over death when given the chance?"

"No, because you would refuse death when given the chance."

" _The nightingale's flight is not yet over._ " The strange chant grew ever louder.

Leliana shook her head. "Death is not a chance. It's the inevitable. Why would I choose it when I can still return?"

"And what kind of world do you think you are returning to?"

The chanting stopped for a moment as Leliana's smile vanished.

Morrigan nodded as if confirming her own statement: "Yes, that is right: Do you really think that what happened in the Chantry does not entail consequences? You have no idea how the world has changed in just a few hours. But believe this: It is not for the better."

"But…" Leliana was taken off-balance for a moment. Still: There was a thought she clung onto: "…but  _she_  is there. Morrigan is there."

Morrigan smiled. She didn't look happy. "And answer me this: How would you know whether she still is there? That she is…still alive? Why would you choose that world over this one?"

"Because it's  _real!_ " she protested weakly.

"That is merely a matter of perspective. In the end, only death is real. And you are offered the chance to have a  _good_  death. See all this here? Nothing can hurt you!  _I_  cannot hurt you!" It were Morrigan's eyes she was looking into. The eyes of her lover. "You and I – we can be happy here forever and you will never hurt. In the other world, however…" there was infinite sadness in Morrigan's eyes. "The other world  _will_  hurt you. Always."

It was the simple truth and she knew it.

Maybe she had always known it.

"This, Leliana, is your reward. For all your past sins you have made right by the Maker. You have a clean slate now and He offers you this way out, a painless way. While the other world will make you hurt again and again. More than you can possibly bear. So tell me, Leliana: Why would you choose that other world over this one?"

_Why indeed?_

When it didn't matter in the end: Why go there to suffer even more? Hadn't she suffered enough already?

She took a deep breath.

And then she knew the answer.

" _The nightingale's flight is not yet over._ "

She didn't even have to utter the words as the choral started once more right at the moment she had made up her mind. Music in her ears. Leliana closed her eyes and smiled.

_I couldn't have said it any better._

When she opened them again she looked at Marjolaine.

_Of course. Because Morrigan would just remind me of the reasons why I mustgo back._

The dead woman just shook her head sadly: "That's your reason? Duty? Oh, Leliana, you truly were  _much_  more fun back in the days."

…and then the pain started.

* * *

Her first impulse was to scream her lungs out as the agonizing hammers hit her all at once. Oh, she  _would_  have screamed if opening her mouth itself had produced anything more than a cough and yet more pain.

_Maker, take me back. Take me back there. Make it stop._

Only the glimpse of a moment back seemed almost enough to regret her decision. It was wrong, of course. It was weakness. And in knowing that lay strength.

As she calmed down and the hammers receded to a tender, though constant sting, she realized that the first outburst of agony had been her own doing: coming back from that strange place with the windmill, her body had cringed all at once – and of course, her body was a broken wreck now.

For a moment she just lay there, breathing flatly. She wondered how much air she might have left. Obviously, she hadn't asphyxiated yet, but who could tell how long she had been down here?

The utter darkness did not help either.

For a moment she reconsidered screaming for help, but that wouldn't do it – not without a voice at least.

_Here I am. No idea where. No idea where to_  go _. And I'm broken anyway._

It would have been easy to give up. She could just wait here for the end (again) and that would have been it. After all: How much pain can a person bare?

_Much more._ She _has taken much, much more._

The thought lightened up something in her head. A shining beacon of hope. Yes, how could she dare to even consider capitulation, when her pain was nothing compared to what a certain other women from Ferelden had endured?

_Enslaved in a foreign land. Betrayed by her husband. Thrown to the wolves for torture, pain and humiliation. Redeemed solely by the piercing of a sword through her heart while being burnt to death._

That woman, too, had been spoken to by Him and she had never, for a second doubted what He had planned for her – despite being hurt, wounded and humiliated on every step of the way.

' _In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know / The peace of the Maker's benediction'…_

As one moment had flown into the next, the words had appeared in her head. She would have spoken them herself if she could, but nevertheless: even as an echo in her head, she could feel their strength.

'… _The Light shall lead her safely…'_

She started to move her limps. It did take just the fracture of a second (and a hot, stinging pain) to realize that her left arm was definitely useless.

'… _Through the paths of this world, and into the next…'_

The same held true for the leg. At least the left one. Broken? Possibly. Likely.

'… _For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is water…'_

However: The right arm felt numb and bruised, but she could still move it. She counted that as a win. No outcry of triumph, naturally. Still…

'… _As the moth sees light and goes toward the flames…'_

The left hand is broken while the right is still strong. She smiled grimly. Cassandra would just love that irony…

'… _She should see fire and go towards Light…'_

Orientation. Now, that was a problem.

'… _The Veil holds no uncertainty for her…'_

Then again: There was literally no way to tell which direction was which. She could try to push herself up toward the surface or even further down into the ruins of the building – and she would still be totally oblivious to it until she either reached the surface…or suffocated.

'… _And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker…'_

So she just pushed. It took all her effort and once more she was on the brink of crying out triumphantly as she did indeed move.

'… _Shall be her beacon and her shield…'_

The daggers shooting through her veins pushed tears in her eyes which mixed with the dirt and made them burn like a fire. She could feel hot tears running down her cheeks and felt unable to open her eyes. Not that they did her any good here.

'… _Her foundation and her sword.'_

The verse ended. And though she had pulled with all the strength she could muster up with only one limb, she had barely moved half the length of her lower arm. It was in fact just barely more than nothing.

_This will take an eternity._

But still she smiled in grim determination: Fortunately, she knew a lot of other verses.

' _Though all before me is shadow / Yet the Maker shall be my guide…'_

* * *

It was difficult to bear. He could try to comprehend, try to make sense of it and to rationalize what it was meant to be.

_A lesson? A demonstration? Closure?_

"No more half-measures", these words were already famous.

_The justification for this._

Yet, as he stood before it, there was no use denying that this sight was anything else but the aftermath of a catastrophe. A barren wasteland of dirt, dust and debris.

It was a strange thing: Like so many others, he had come here from Ferelden with hopes that Kirkwall could be a new beginning, a new home. In all these years it never had. Like so many others he had stood in awe before the huge building-that-was-no-more and adored its beauty and power. But unlike those others, his adoration could never have been more than a superficial one. It was a beautiful architecture, an impressive sight – but it would never be a shelter, a safe haven for him or his kind. It was the very symbol for the fact that there would never be safety for them.

So yes: Kirkwall's chantry had mirrored that feeling of a city that could never be his home. And yet, now that it was gone, it felt as if something was missing.

_A beautiful sentiment,_   _but you should not be here._

It was a wise thought, that one. The man had to admit that. If any Templar found him, a mage, here, he would be killed on sight – nothing was holding them back anymore.

_Clarity. The need for a clear cut. That's what has started this._

The Circle was done for and abandoned. Any mage here in Kirkwall was running for dear life – and so should he. But still he had felt the need to come here, to see first hand how it had begun.

He sighed as he rose up from the rubble he had sat on in silent mourn for all the victims of last night's event and just as he was about to set his feet in motion for the inevitable flight that would be the rest of his life, he hesitated.

For a second it had seemed as if…

_Impossible. You need to go. Now._

The thoughts became more emphatic, aggressive. An instinct that demanded obedience. But still he couldn't dissipate that sensation that he  _had_  just witnessed a movement where none could possibly be.

_Ghosts. Your mind playing tricks on you._

But there it was again. Right there in the debris of what once was a home of the Maker. A sound – increasing, persistent, frantic.

And then he saw the hand.

It was impossible. Utterly unthinkable. And yet, the impossible hand reached through the rubble.

_Run. It's dead. A living dead._

He had seen those, of course. Corpses rising, guided by a dark and despicable kind of magic. Driven forward to haunt the living…or just doomed to not be left in peace. But this was not it.

Curiously – and against the ever louder voice in his head – he moved closer and when he heard the faint, muffled voice, he could no longer help it.

_What are you doing!?_

It was madness. It did not make sense in the least. He realized that as he took the hand and frantically started to dig. Even if there was someone, there was small chance that it could be anyone else but an enemy.

But what if it wasn't? What if was an innocent citizen who happened to be in the chantry at the wrong time? Could he live with that?

_Yes, you can. You must! How many innocent died since yesterday? How many did you_ kill _yourself?_

But his mind had lost the battle the very moment he had touched the hand and felt the desperate grip. The fear of the possible consequences – what did it matter when there was a life to save? Even if it was just one.

His heart made a leap as soon as he had gotten the head free and eyes wide open stared at him. It was the best blasted thing that had happened since what felt like an eternity. She – only the voice gave away that it was indeed a woman – started to make noises in a futile attempt to speak while trying to wrestle herself out of her stone prison. Only muffled, unintelligible noises and coughs escaped her throat, but that did not matter for now. What did was the fact that together they were able to get her  _out_  of there. More than once the woman gave a shriek of pain and despite his best effort to concentrate on the important thing here, he could not help but wonder if it would attract attention.

_It will. Go. Go now!_

Endless minutes later it was done and as the woman lay stretched out before him, gasping to get air while at the same time coughing out the dust and ashes (and blood), he finally got a chance to look at her properly.

She was a mess, of course. Covered all over in dirt and dust, her robe torn and her face a mixture of blood and grime, he could immediately make out the most obvious sources of her agonized shrieks: her left arm was broken, probably more than once, and her left leg looked twisted and battered as well.

With shaking hands he pulled out the waterskin from under his robe and helped her to get some of the liquid down her throat.

"Listen to me! Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

"I…," she coughed out, "I…was at the…the windmill."

Disorientation. Possibly a concussion. The limbs had to wait then. He needed to start at the head.

_What_ are _you doing?_

He ignored it and concentrated as he did what he did best. He healed. Or at least he tried. He was exhausted, the magical energy he had wielded at templars and guardsmen alike had taken its toll and he felt drained and tired, but still… Maker, he was a healer! This is what he  _did_!

He was brilliant at healing, always had been. Maybe he should have concentrated on that instead, found another way, another life. But that was not important now. What mattered was the girl, muttering nonsensical gibberish with a strong Orlesian accent.

The painful downside of healing magic was the connection you formed with the patients, the way to sense their aches and pains from the inside – and this girl was clearly in agony.

_How can you do this? Now? You have to run! Run! Run!_

She did calm down a little when he was done with the leg. He had mended what he could and on the outside the leg looked relatively good though she would still feel the pain for days. But as soon as he turned over to the arm, he knew that his pools would be drained soon. He would give his best and then she would have to see for herself.

_You had better left her there. She deserved it._

It took all of his energy to not cry out loud against the voice, tell his own head that nobody did deserve this and that this girl had paid her debts even if she were the cruellest and coldest templar questioner in disguise. It mattered not.

But he resisted the urge to cry out, justify this to the voice. Instead he did what needed to be done.

"Can you speak? Do you know your name?"

"…"

"It doesn't matter. Listen to me carefully, because I do not have much time. Take this…," he fumbled out the last healing potion left, put it in her hand and closed her fingers around it, "Drink this and then make your way into this direction. The city guard, they're treating the badly wounded in the old barracks, just near the smithy. You cannot miss it."

"You…"

"I…I have to go. I'm sorry. I did all I could. But you will pull through, do you understand me? You  _will_  live."

_Kill her. Here and now. No witnesses. No remorse._

The voice got louder, more powerful. He would not be able to resist longer, not as fatigued as he was right now. Once more he pressed her fingers together around the vial to emphasize and jumped up.

Out. Fast.

"You…you…thank you, serah. You…you are a good man."

It was a weak and faint sound, but the words rang in his head.

"No," he said as he turned around to hurry off, "No, I'm not."

And then he started running as fast as he could.

* * *

Coughing was the worst.

Even though there was no longer blood coming out when she was forced to clear her throat the hard way, every cough still made her whole body flinch – an awful reminder of just how broken that wreck of a body still was.

Oh, and that burning dryness in her throat! She had greedily gulped down even the last drop out of the waterskin the stranger had left here as he had hurried off, but it helped naught. Right now, she could probably drink out the whole of Lake Calenhad and it would not be enough to get rid of the seemingly endless amount of dust in her mouth.

_It doesn't matter. I'm alive, no?_

It was a strange thought, miraculous even, but it did help to remind her of what was really important. Her head might be throbbing, her legs shaky and any movement of her left arm might send a stinging lance of pure agony through the limb – still she  _was_  alive.

_That has to suffice. Well, at least for the moment._

Walking still felt odd. Her legs seemed fragile as if made out of glass, but at the same time she did not have as much feeling in there to make her clumsy movements towards the streets actually painful.

_Possibly an effect of the potion he gave me._

It reminded her of the fact that in her hand she still held the rest of the potion the man had pressed in her hand before storming off in what seemed a mild panic. Hastily she opened it with one hand and dashed down the bittersweet liquid, thankful for the short moment of wetness in her mouth. It did not do much, but in her current situation even the little invigoration it could provide was helpful.

'No, I am not' the man had answered when she had called him a good person and she had known it to be true. There had been something, something behind those eyes that would have made her instantly refuse any help he had offered under normal circumstances. Her words had been polite, like what one might have expected from a person just barely saved from her certain death, yet her bard instincts had told her that this was a troubled man, possibly even dangerous.

_But without his help I might have not been able to make it out._

It was the simple truth of it. You couldn't always choose with whom you were stuck and it was sheer luck that the man had been there, at this most forsaken and depressing place, at that exact time.

_No. No luck._

All her life she had doubted. Her decisions. Her actions. Her beliefs. But no longer. Doubt had brought her nothing but sorrow and pain. And from what the woman in her dreams had prophesized to her there was plenty of that ahead anyway.

' _More than you can possibly bear'._

Doubt was poison. Faith and instinct – they had always guided her way. There might be as many explanations of how and why she had survived this as there were truths in this world. But all that mattered was  _her_  truth. She knew that He had plans for her. Good ones or bad – it was insignificant. There was a path made for her and she would follow it to the very end, through bitterness and joy.

_The nightingale's flight is not yet over._

Nobody might believe what she had experienced, but she was long used to that by now. She knew the truth. Well: she knew  _a_  truth in any way. Of course Morrigan would reject this. She would say that she had somehow saved herself out of sheer survival instinct and that she had been hallucinating, her panicking mind sending her images to muster up the strength necessary to crawl out of her grave because that was how instincts worked. She might even be right. But still: Morrigan had no idea how it felt to…

_Morrigan!_

A spontaneous curse escaped her lips, making a single passerby cringe…or maybe that was due to her undoubtedly frightening appearance.

How could she have forgotten about  _her_? Ever since she had escaped from her dirty tomb her thoughts had been on literally everything except Morrigan: the mysterious stranger, her experiences in the ruins, her doubts and her path – Maker, even the thought of the necessity to inform Dorothea of both her survival and her failure had crossed her mind (she could already feel Cassandra's merciless 'I told you so'-glance on her, which the Seeker would without any doubt honor her with, the moment she had to admit that Elthina did indeed become a target). But she had not considered Morrigan. Why? Was she such a selfish, horrible person?

_No, it's fear._

It was as simple as that. Pathetic as it might be, she was afraid because she did not know where Morrigan was and how to find her. Afraid that the witch was…gone.

And maybe worst of all: She was afraid that nothing that had happened here would have changed anything for Morrigan. What if the witch had already heard what had taken place, what ordeal Leliana had gone through? And what if Morrigan – even if she could somehow find her and tell her all about it – would just stare at her as coldly as she had during their last conversation…and turn away? What then? How could she deal with that?

' _More than you can possibly bear'._

She was surprised that there actually was enough water in her to form tears, but she fought them back regardlessly. No time for that.

_No doubts. You need to find her. Make this right. Just as you had planned._

The thought did bring some new courage with it – or maybe it was just the potion kicking in with a delay. She could see herself again, standing up before Morrigan and tell her how she truly felt. Then it would be up to the witch.

_No more half-measures._

She noticed that she had suddenly stopped – and more then that: that she had just stumbled through the streets aimlessly before, while the important question  _should_  have been 'Where to go'?

Sundermount was not really an option. She was in no condition to ride anywhere, even in the highly unlikely case that she could get a horse somewhere in the middle of the night. Were there even horses? Was the city in utter chaos? From the few people she had seen on the streets she could not tell. And besides that: Who said that this was the same night it had happened? For all she knew she might have spent days in that odd place with the windmill. Or seconds.

_I know nothing._

Finally a clever and structured thought. Right now, she could not tell anything with certainty. Despite her disastrous condition she needed to be smart and on top of her game here – assessing the situation like a bard…or an agent of the Divine.

_So: Where to go?_

Counting out some shady tavern in Lowtown she had spent some time at gathering information on her visit months ago, she could literally only think of two places to turn to.

_Actually…just one._

She felt painfully reminded that the other lay in ruins.

_So the Hawke Estate then._

It was the logical choice. Before going to the chantry, she had left the little luggage she travelled with at the place. The thought of putting on some clean clothes did sound charming. Besides that: If this Hawke was actually the young man she knew back from her time in Lothering – and she was fairly sure that he was – he might be willing to help her out with bandages, food or (an enticing thought!) even a quick bath. For Isabela's sake.

_Isabela!_

Now that was an interesting point. If she was not already there with her friend, Hawke might know where to find her, shed some light on the things that had happened – and the whereabouts of Merrill…and thus Morrigan. Isabela was the key to learn about them.

With the Viscount's Keep she quickly identified a useful orientation point and made her way through the streets of Hightown. It was not a long way by foot, but in her condition it seemed to stretch endlessly. The more she moved, the more she became aware of how shattered she still felt.

_Rest. More than clothes, bandages and the bath…I will need a place to rest._

When she finally arrived at the estate, she was very much at the end of her ropes, fatigued as if she had been awake for three days, aching as if…well, as if a building had collapsed on her.

_Just a few more steps._

Strangely enough, the door was ajar. A welcome sight? She wasn't sure.

_Better be careful. In the middle of the night…_

The idea of running into a bunch of thieves or other lowlifes was not particularly intriguing, so she decided to take the silent approach.

She had half expected the door to make a loud creaking noise as she carefully opened it up a little to take a peak inside, but luckily the Champion of Kirkwall seemed to prefer his household in a good shape…and his front door well-oiled.

As quickly as possible (which was not very quick at all when walking on glass-legs) she moved into the entrance room and pressed herself against the wall.

_Voices. Upstairs._

"…going all blood-mage and killing other people who had nothing to do with anything…"

_Isabela!_

The familiar voice made her give a sigh of relief, even if the pirate sounded irritated. No thieves then. Well: no thieves who were not actual friends of the house-owner, at least. Leliana decided to move forward into the main room. If memory served right, that place upstairs was to the left.

"…at everyone else's throats, killing hundreds of totally unrelated people because apparently that is  _justice_. And now you come along and decide to go after Anders…"

_Maker, she is really angry!_

There was a brief moment of amusement as Leliana tried to imagine the face of the guy getting this rant right at his face, but if it was Hawke he would probably be able to deal with it.  _If_  he was the person being addressed.

Then she froze.

"I am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. She was a really, really nice gal..."

_Morrigan?_

It was as if she had hit a brick-wall. Figuratively, this time…

_Morrigan?!_

Her lips formed the name, but no sound would come out. Could it be? Could  _she_  be here? A sudden warmth felt her belly.

"No! 'tis different!"

Despite the violent and angry tone, hearing her voice sent a shiver down her spine. A warm, comfortable shiver. Tears of joy filled her eyes. And Isabela had mentioned Morrigan's 'girlfriend'…were they talking about  _her_?

_She is here. My Morrigan!_

"Yeah? How so? Because this time it was you getting a kick in the arse? Because this time it was not a stranger going down but someone that you knew?" Isabela again.

With all the strength left in her, Leliana moved towards the doorframe, trying to shout, willing to blurt it out all at once, but only a cough and some hoarse nothingness escaped her mouth. She moved towards the door.  _Morrigan!_

"BECAUSE I LOVED HER!"

Words were powerful. All her life she had said that and believed in it with all her heart. The right words could entice you, anger you, and touch you deep inside. But for the very first time in her life Leliana felt words pulling away the floor under her feed. As her knees gave in, it took her an effort to cling to the doorframe.

_She said it._

The right words could touch you deep inside…and there were no words  _more_  right than those she had just heard.

_She said it._

Oh, what wouldn't she have given for those words? Anything! Anything just to hear this woman say it. No sacrifice would have been too high for this.

_Well, for all I know I died and came back. That is something._

She just wanted to lie down on the floor, cry with joy and wrap her arms around her as if embracing the words, never ever willing to let them go.

Instead she rose up again, clinging to the last bit of strength. And she cried. She cried out her name. It was a faint, whimpering sound, but it was all that she had left. It would have to be enough.

_She said it._

* * *

_Something is amiss._

It was one of those moments where one could just sense that there was something in the air, something incomprehensible. Nobody moved; nobody gave a sound. Isabela and Merrill just stared dumbfounded as if her outburst from a few moments ago was still ringing in their ears. And yet…

…yet there was something distinctly curious in the way their bodies had given a start a few seconds ago. As if reacting to a sudden movement.

_Or a sound. As if they were hearing something._

But there was just utter silence except for the voice in her head, which still…

Her eyes widened as a thought sank in.

' _tis not in my head._

It was not possible, of course. They could not be hearing the voice of a dead woman. How could they?

_But they do._

And then she ran.

She ran straight to the railing, hurriedly letting her gaze wander over the whole room…and froze dead when she saw her.

_Her._

It was a wreck of a woman standing there in the doorframe, barely able to stand on her feet. She was covered in dust, ashes and blood all over, her clothes torn rags of a robe, something even the poorest beggar would refuse to wear. She swayed dangerously on her seemingly fragile legs, her left arm broken in such an obvious way that it pained her just to look at it. Her face, barely freed from all the dirt was covered in blood, her hair ragged and torn and burnt. It was a pitiful creature standing there.

And it was the single most beautiful sight her eyes had ever beheld.

_It is her. It cannot be. And yet it is._

The girl's eyes fixated her as she tried to cough out a few unintelligible words.

"Leliana?!" Morrigan managed wide-eyed. In all likelihood it was the silliest one-word-question in the history of Thedas.

"…heard what…you said…" the girl coughed.

"Leliana!" Morrigan stormed down the stairs, not letting her eyes of her for a second, out of fear that the girl would be gone if she just dared to blink. "How…?"

"Say it…" another dry cough interrupted Leliana. "Say…it again."

For a split-second Morrigan had no idea what she was talking about. Her head was spinning, overwhelmed by the sight of the woman who just  _had_  to be dead.

_It was a whole blasted building! How could she possibly…_

She made another step towards the woman, but Leliana recoiled in a – in all likelihood – painful manner, raising her hand and pointing at her.

"You…will say…it again…right now!"

"What is…?"

"No!" Tears filled the girl's eyes, but in wild defiance she remained in her position. "No 'What', no 'How', no 'tis', Morrigan… I heard you say it…and I  _demand_  you to say it again…right into my face." It was a surreal sight, the battered and beaten girl, a creature that could barely stand straight,  _demanding_  anything in a tone that would make a nobleman flinch.

_She wants what you have denied her._

The realization rendered her utterly speechless. Leliana had just heard her saying it, had she not? She was barely in any shape to speak at all. She needed help now! And still  _that_  was all she would care about?

The mad sparkle in her eyes left no doubt about that. "Speak…the words, Morrigan. Look…into my eyes and…and…speak them now…or I…I swear I will crawl back…into my grave. SAY IT!"

Her heart was pounding wildly, her throat was dry. She has said it before, had she not? The words were strange and unfamiliar, but they were right. They were true. They were…pure. And they were choking her.

Again she needed to fight back the tears as she looked in Leliana's blue eyes, begging…no  _demanding_  what was hers.

"I…" she started, fighting against the chains that had been lain upon her decades ago by an old woman who would never allow her to say what she needed to say. What she longed to shout out aloud for the entire world to hear. 'Weakness' she would call it, and: 'pathetic'.

But the chains no longer bound her now. Nothing bound her.

_Never again._

"I love you, Leliana." It was a hoarse crackling voice, not the proud and powerful shout she had intended, but it had to do. And the sudden smile on Leliana's face proved that it did – a smile that turned the pitiful creature into a breathtaking sight that no beauty in the world could compare with. Proud Andraste in all her shining glory could stand here right now and would seem a fade beside her. Leliana nodded, tears running down her cheeks. And Morrigan could not help it: "There you have it!  _I love you_ , you crazy, foolish little…"

The rest of the sentence was lost in the embrace as the girl flung herself against Morrigan with little to no regard of the pain that it surely caused her. Morrigan buried her own face deep in the bard's shoulder inhaling the reek of ash and blood as if it were the smell of a beautiful flower. Which it was. She tasted blood as her lips sought Leliana's – and she did not care. Because somewhere deep down there, beyond the layers of filfth and blood was another taste. Leliana.

Pure and untainted Leliana.

Then she heard that voice again. A faint whisper next to her ear in that cheery soothing voice: "Thank you. And just in case you were wondering, this means: I love you, too."

And at his very moment, Morrigan decided to finally break a vow a foolish young girl had once sworn, long ago. And her head resting on the shoulder of her one true love, the Witch of the Wild cried like a baby.

* * *

Leliana's arm slung over her shoulders, Morrigan supported the girl as they entered the bedroom. The Hawke Estate sure held more bedrooms than one might have expected for a supposed bachelor with no family left whatsoever – the typical decadence of a man come to power. And a room for the sole purpose of taking a bath? Morrigan had seen this before, of course, but she never actually got the point.

Still: As she walked Leliana towards the bed, she was thankful for the bath and the bed. And for Isabela graciously offering both. Somehow Morrigan refused to believe that the woman had been given any authority by the actual owner – but she also had her doubts that he would dare objecting to anything Isabela said if he had been here right at this moment.

_He would be too busy not drowning in a flood of words from Merrill, anyway._

Looking at Leliana now, she once again stood in awe before the almighty power of a good bath. The girl sure looked much better now. Less blood. Less dirt. More face. Water – it sure was a miracle.

Her Beloved was limping a little, but Morrigan had noticed that she didn't actually  _need_  her support to walk. The girl was in better shape than expected.  _In much better shape than she possibly_ should _be, given the fact that a blasted Chantry just fell on her…_

But still Leliana leaned on her as if she was the only thing holding her upright. It was a ridiculous act, a shameless display with the sole purpose of gaining her touch and her attention.

And Morrigan couldn't care less.

As she gently lay her girlfriend down on the comfortable bed, she could not help but wonder how that girl went from one disaster into the next – and just kept surviving while literally everything crumbled around her. She had been right in the middle of it all, and yet: Here she was. Battered and bruised, her face swollen, her ankle sprained, her arm possibly broken – and smiling. It was the second most beautiful thing Morrigan's eyes ever beheld.

_But why is she grinning like a fool?_

"Why are you grinning like a fool?" (It sure felt good to have mind and tongue aligned again)

Her smile grew wider if that was even physically possible. "Well, I just had to think of something," she said.

"And what would that be, I wonder?"

"Remember that time you admitted that you love me?"

"That was not even an hour ago."

"Exactly. Remember that? That was beautiful, no?"

Morrigan sighed. "I shall never hear the end of  _that_ , shall I?"

Leliana giggled like a little girl. "Of course not! From now on I will remind you every single day. I might even wake you up at night and ask you to say it again…"

Morrigan stared at her, feeling her jaw drop.  _She can't possibly…?_  Then it finally sunk in.

"'tis a jest, right? You are japing?"

Leliana laughed wholeheartedly, a noise more beautiful than any song ever uttered (and Morrigan sure would  _never_  use that phrase openly – it would doom her to a life full of sentimental sighs and giggles).

"Of course it is. Though that startled look on your face might make me reconsider." A cheeky smile remained on her face, but her voice grew softer. "Come to bed, Beloved."

Now that was a good plan, Morrigan decided. She had never been the one for the comfortable beds the nobles seemed to prefer – but tonight…well, after all the events of today it sure did feel good.

The Witch of the Wild lay next to her lover and carefully placed her arm around Leliana, the bard immediately cuddling herself against Morrigan.

"Please tell me the truth," Leliana began, "My hair's still a mess, no?"

It took a moment for Morrigan to let this most ridiculous of all question sink in. Then she sighed. "'tis a disaster. You might very well scare a demon off with that." For that she received a poke – and yet another awfully wonderful chuckle.

She placed a kiss on Leliana's forehead before she went on. "I presume that any word out of your mouth tonight will be another foolish jest – or shall I ever hear anything sensible from you?"

Leliana pouted. "You can always try."

Morrigan turned her head and looked her deep in the eyes. "How do you feel?"

For a moment, the girl blinked (possibly considering yet another witty nonsensical reply) but her voice did sound serious now. "Better, I think. Your magic did help. A little. How come that you're such a powerful witch…but not good at Healing?"

"I just am."

"But why? Couldn't you learn? Or are you just born with certain skills?"

Morrigan grimaced. She might have learnt. But unfortunately she had the wrong teacher. The kind who had other things in mind for her then healing people. Not the nice kind of things.

_Not the nice kind of lessons either._

"So, are we debating the deeper mechanisms of magic now?" she answered the question with a question. And a heavy sarcastic undertone that wouldn't have been missed by even the slowest Tranquil.

But Leliana still didn't seem inclined to give up yet. "I just found that curious. The other mage, the one at the Chantry, he was much better at healing."

"Well, maybe you should be lying next to  _him_  then."

"Hm, no. He looked troubled."

"I imagine that this might hold true for many a mage in the days to come."

"Yes, I suppose so." She could feel Leliana shifting uncomfortably as the girl seemed to remember what they were actually talking about right now.

_Blasted! I should take her mind_ off _the problems – not right into the trouble that lies ahead._ Well, it was too late for that now.

"What happened here – it will have consequences."

"It would be foolish to assume otherwise."

"Do you think that it might be the end?"

"No, 'tis but a beginning. But of what I cannot say." And then before she even knew what happened she found herself murmuring…The Words: "'We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment…and when it comes…do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly…'" The words the elven girl had mentioned. The ones echoing in her mind with that one voice that would summon the dark cloud in the back of her head once more.

_Did she mean_ this _? Unlikely. Petty quarrels between mages and templars – even if leading to an open war in the end – that is hardly something she would grace with more than just an indifferent nod. No, it must be something larger. Maybe…maybe she can sense_ it _, too?_

"That was…beautiful."

Leliana's voice broke through the silence Morrigan had not even noticed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, these words you just recited. They did sound beautiful in a way. They also reminded me of my vision in Lothering. Is…is it a poem?"

Now wasn't that just typical? She couldn't remember if Leliana had ever called any of her words 'beautiful'.  _But recite something Mother said and 'tis sweeter than a minstrel's tale._

Morrigan laughed humourlessly. "She has been called many a thing, but 'poetic'? Now that would indeed be new."

The girls raised her eyebrows. "Flemeth? These are Flemeth's words?"

_And to think that I used to consider her slow on the uptake…_

"Yes. Yes, they are. At least according to that foolish elven girl."

"Merrill? She knew Flemeth?"

"Barely. Before she resurrected her…"

And before she could help it Morrigan found herself reciting the whole story of her findings about Flemeth, few as they were. It was hardly a subject to lighten up the mood, but going back to mages blowing up chantries was not really an option either. At least this one had the benefit of Leliana resting her head against Morrigan's shoulder again. Whether this was a conscious act of compassion or not, she could not tell. Often enough Flemeth had told her how ridiculous the notion of "someone being there for you in hard times" was and how the idea of body contact soothing one's mind was nothing but an illusion weak people made up when incapable to face their problems on their own.

It did help though.

_Yet another painful lesson disproven by reality._

When she was done, she could see the question coming: "Will she come after you?"

"'tis hard to predict when it comes to Flemeth. She might try to find me. She might already  _have_. Or she could wait for me to hunt her. I…cannot say."

Morrigan knew what would come next. Which questions would inevitably come to Leliana's mind right now. They were the hardest ones – because she had no answer to them.

' _What about me?'_

' _Will she come after_ me _when she learns about us?_ '

' _Will I be safe or must I run?_ '

' _Can you protect me if she comes for me to hurt you, Morrigan?_ '

Her thoughts were racing, contemplating the outcome of either answer, desperately trying to find the right one.

Only, to her amazement, Leliana never asked.

All the girl did was plant a soft kiss on her lips and press herself against her even more. Leliana could babble all day long about the most absurd nothingness you could think of, asking both the most clever and the most foolish questions alike – and yet, in this moment she did the only good thing: She remained silent.

And for that alone Morrigan loved her.

It made the next words even harder. But as silence fell and the subject of Flemeth was dealt with Morrigan realized that there was one last thing left to deal with. It wasn't nice and probably not fair towards Leliana, but she knew she needed the answer sooner or later.

_Better be done with it here and now. However hurtful that might be._

"Leliana…"

"You are not seriously going to ask me about my past with Isabela now, no?"

Morrigan blinked.  _How_ could she have seen that coming?

"Please…" she began, hoping that the use of her least favourite word in the world would emphasize how important it was to be done with this once and for all. "Please…I just need to know."

Suddenly Leliana rose herself up in the bed, supporting her head with the badly hurt arm in a manner that just  _had_  to be painful. She did not show any signs of that as she fixed Morrigan with her eyes, though. "Really?" she asked, neither irritated, nor hurt. "Do you?"

There was something oddly familiar to this. An undertone in Leliana's soft voice evoked a feeling that she had never thought to succumb to again: It was like a lesson. And once more Morrigan was the little girl that was asked to clarify what she had just learnt. For a moment the witch thought she could feel the dark cloud forming again. But the blue eyes of her Beloved put an end to that: No, this was not a painful lesson. No punishment for not learning what she was expected to learn. No edges.

And then she understood. That battered, bruised and wounded face itself was the answer  _and_  the lesson. Because as she looked at it, looked at  _her_  and as she recalled that feeling of pure and untainted joy and happiness at the sight of this face in the hallway an hour ago, right then the point was clear.

"No", she said to her own astonishment, "No, you are absolutely right. I need to apologize, Leliana. It does not matter what was before us. It never has.  _We_  – that is all that is important."

A smile returned to the girl's face as she sank back onto Morrigan's shoulder. Was that relief? Or…pride?

"You have learned that now, yes? You understand it?"

"Yes."

"Good. And because of that I  _will_  tell you the truth."

Morrigan frowned. It was an utterly ridiculous logic – and most absurdly, it made perfect sense. In a way. Leliana's mind did work in mysterious ways sometimes…

"I have never lied to you, Morrigan, and I swear by the Maker himself that this, too, is the truth: Nothing ever happened between me and Isabela. Not in the real world."

"That is…a rather curious way to phrase your answer, I daresay."

Leliana laughed. "Yes, it probably is. The thing is this: Back in the days then when we went to the Pearl with Elissa and when we first met Isabela, I noticed the way she looked at me. Her…intentions were quite clear. But even though I enjoyed it, I never allowed for anything more than that…except for in the stories."

"The stories?" Morrigan got more puzzled by the minute.  _What is she talking about?_

Leliana sighed. "Well, it's silly really…but sometimes when I was in my tent late at night…I got really lonely. And some nights my thoughts went back to…bad times." Her voice trembled a little and of course Morrigan knew what she was talking about – and cursed herself for leading back there. "And whenever I got too lonely, I made up one of those silly stories to make me feel better…'The innocent Sister and her valiant Warden', 'The innocent Sister stumbles upon the bathing witch'…well, and 'The innocent Sister is taken away by the pirate queen'…"

Morrigan had to laugh. "That Sister sure doesn't sound that 'innocent' to me…"

The girl made a pout…not hiding her own amusement very well, though. "My dear Morrigan," she announced in a fake-grave tone, "These are stories! Everything is possible in the magic world of imagination."

They both shared to laugh. And  _of course_  it made sense.  _Of course_  she would make up stories like that.  _Of course_ she would occupy herself with wild fantasies like that to avoid the darkness behind her – and possibly in front of her. That just was the Leliana she had gotten to know during the Blight and –

_Wait…what had she said?_

"Ah… Did you – just mention that you had fantasies about  _me_  back then?"

"Does that  _really_  surprise you?"

"No."

_Of course not._

After all that she had learned about this girl, there really should not have been the least doubt about that. Morrigan's hostile behavior towards her back then, all her insults, all the jokes about everything Leliana held dear and all the open disdain she had shown towards the girl quite literally  _whenever_  she had dared to open her mouth – these were just trifles in the girl's head. Minor details. Nothing to stand in the way for a good love story, surely. Instead she felt a blush coming up at the thought of what wild fantasies Leliana might have had there. About her. Alone in her tent.

"Anyway – I think you see it now. When I noticed Isabela's glances it…well, it just felt good. I'll admit that. So, occasionally when we were in Denerim and you and the others were wandering around with Elissa and I was bored at camp, I sneaked back into the Pearl. I met her there a few times, and whenever she saw me, she'd spare me a drink and we would talk and she would…" Morrigan could literally  _feel_  her go red in the face without having to look. "…sit really close to me. Making body contact, putting her hands around my thighs and the like and - you know… _say things_."

"I…can imagine. She's not exactly a subtle person."

Leliana giggled. "No, not at all. And I let her because I enjoyed it. Nothing really happened, but yes, I'll admit to this: I enjoyed feeling desired again…in a non-hurtful way."

Her voice became a whisper at the last words. Morrigan could only imagine why.

_No, don't let her walk down that path again. You got your answers. There's no need for that now._

Of course: Leliana's dark memories would come back – Morrigan knew that. But they had found ways to deal with that. And tonight was not the night. They both had been through the deepest pits of despair and back tonight – and they deserved better than that. So it was up to her to stop this conversation from going down the dark path.

"Leliana, tell it to me," she stated right into the creeping silence.

"Tell you what?"

"The story. You know. The one about the inncocent Sister and the witch…"

Leliana made big eyes, obviously taken aback by that request. "I…don't think that would be appropriate. You wouldn't want to hear such a silly old story."

"I assume 'tis a dirty one?"

"Yes." Leliana blushed again, a bit ashamed by her lover's request to talk about her earliest fantasies. But there also was a hint of something else – excitement. Already her voice turned into the voice of a storyteller. "Yes, it is. After all the witch is not that pleased with the Sister stumbling upon her like that, as you might imagine…"

Morrigan smirked.

_Yes, I can picture that._

Gently, she caressed Leliana's bruised cheek. "Please. Tell it to me," she breathed.

And so the bard ended doing what she did best: she told a story. In all details. After that, there was no thought of sleep for a long time.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

When Morrigan finally opened her eyes, she was almost blinded by the bright sunlight streaming into the room, an unusual sight to wake up to.

_Is it that late already?_

She was not really used to sleeping that long, but then again: it had been a long, long night.

For a brief moment, she nearly panicked as she noticed the complete absence of Leliana, but the traces of her lover's presence in the bed and in the room calmed her down.

' _twas not a dream. It happened._

It was a soothing realization. So Leliana had just wandered off a bit. She did that occasionally.

It would have been too much to hope that her current condition would've made the girl any less vivid.

A yawn escaped her lips. It was a bit annoying, still feeling this tired, but she decided that staying in bed all day was not an option either.

_Not without Leliana anyway. Where is that woman?_

As she left the bed and strolled into the main hall, she noticed Merrill staring out of the big window. For a brief moment, she contemplated trying to sneak out without being seen by the elf, but she decided against it. That foolish girl had proven useful after all – irritating, yes, but useful. The very least she deserved was a polite greeting.

_Possibly even a 'Thank you', but maybe I can avoid that._

She moved next to her, curious to see what the girl was so intensely looking at. It turned out to be a strange yet comforting sight, down there on the street: a group of children was running about, playing catch as if everything had come back to normality already. But much more bizarre than that was the fact that Leliana was among them, playing  _with_  them, evading once, twice, thrice as a little girl tried to 'catch' her, then making an astounded 'Oh no, now you got me'-face as the child succeeded in the fourth attempt – with a little help from the bard itself, who suddenly 'forgot' evading the fourth time.

For a moment Morrigan considered going out, telling her how foolish this was and that much more than anything else, Leliana needed rest, but seeing her like that – now racing after the kids rising her arm in a 'frightening' manner and making odd noises as the children ran away laughing – was just too surreal, too ridiculous...and, as she had to silently admit, too cute. The children shouting in joy while Leliana played the 'monster'... Well, she certainly had the looks at the moment, but oddly enough not a single child seemed to mind.

_Her face is still bruised and swollen and yet they are not frightened of her. They trust her._

Morrigan wondered how it might be like. Being a child. Playing. Having fun with your friends.  _Having_  actual friends. It was a useless, pathetic longing, of course. Something that had not been meant for her.

"You missed story-time." Merrill's voice ripped her out of that line of thoughts.

"I missed...what?"

Merrill smiled. "Story-time. It was nice. She sat down there and everyone gathered around her when she told us a story." The girl blushed as she realized how she had just given away that she, too, had sat there, listening to a tale for children's (and, if Morrigan was not entirely mistaken, probably enjoying it). "I...remember this from the Clan," the girl stammered helplessly as if to apologize, "I did not know that  _shems_  did that, too. Sit around in a circle and telling stories, I mean."

"Some do." Morrigan simply stated, her glance returning to the unreal scene down there. Again she could not help but picturing herself as a child, sitting in a circle and listening to a story. But she could not make  _that_  image work either. In all likelihood, little Morrigan would have been a terrible listener – always pointing out the flaws and inconsistencies of the tales being told... " _She_  does, anyway," she added dreamily.

"Your girlfriend has a beautiful voice." Merrill said.

_Oh yes. That she has,_ Morrigan thought, but decided to not say it out loud. The memory of how that beautiful voice had told her another private tale last night – one that was decidedly not suitable for children – just threatened to make  _her_  redden now. She just nodded and tried to think of a way to change the subject.

"So, did you receive word of your boyfriend?"

It was a rough cut, but it did the trick.

"Not yet," Merrill replied sadly, "But Isabela is out to look for answers." Morrigan almost gave a sigh of relief. It was unfortunate that she, strictly speaking, owed that pirate woman an apology for her behavior...and the prospect of, with any chance, escaping that duty was intriguing.

"She says that she might have a way to contact him and tell him about my return." Merrill continued. "After all...after all, they all feared that I was dead because...," the lump in the girl's throat was almost palpable, "...because I wasn't there when...it all happened."

Morrigan wanted to ignore it. She wanted that awkward moment to pass by without being forced to say anything. But the memory of that feeling Merrill was experiencing right now – having failed someone you love by not being there in the time of need – was just too fresh to be ignored.

"I...I do apologize, Merrill," she managed. Not exactly her favourite mode of speaking, but she felt obliged to. The way the girl looked at her now did decisively not help. "You were very use...helpful. I apologize for taking you away that night. 'twas a foolish thing. Had I only waited for one day, everything would have been differently – and you would be with him now."

She wasn't too sure about the latter; after all she still held her doubts that this man Hawke was as much in love with the elf as wide-eyed Merrill wanted to believe, but she caught herself actually wishing the girl the best for her relationship.

_You are growing soft, Morrigan. 'tis all Leliana's fault.._

"Thank you," Merrill answered, immediately lowering her glance, obviously feeling awkward by the fact that the daughter of  _Asha'bellanar_  would apologize to  _her_. "But it is not your fault. Nobody could know what would happen here."

_Not unless you had a dream to warn you._

It was a bitter thought, carrying with it the stench of failure. Had she not been as self-obsessed as to misinterpret the dream as something concerning her, all of this would have played out differently.

She wasn't looking forward to the discussions with Leliana about that – discussions that would surely come. Of course Leliana would – more than ever – claim that it had been the Maker speaking to her and that He, of course, had saved her single-handedly in the chantry. The utter nonsense and lack of logic in all of that was something to be pointed out, of course...and something that her Beloved would, for sure, whole-heartedly ignore.

"Morrigan," Merrill's voice was careful, timid even. "What were you looking for? At Sundermount, I mean...if you don't mind me asking?" Her tone suggested that she was not sure if Morrigan would consider this a question or an affront.

For a moment she did consider telling her all about it. About the vague rumors that an ancient  _eluvian_  might have been found here, drawing her to this place.

_She is Dalish after all. Depending on what has been her role in the clan before she was expelled, she might even know something about that._

It was something to contemplate. Maybe there was an odd chance that Merrill could help her. Maybe the whole thing would just stir her up, giving her false hope of discovering an ancient artefact.

"'twas nothing. Just a faint rumor," she replied instead. She would have to weigh the advantages and disadvantages first. "A cold trace."

Merrill nodded, a hint of disappointment on her face, most likely because she regretted not being any assistance. "We will leave," she said, suddenly. "Soon, I think. Isabela said that. That it wasn't safe here anymore for us."

The girl didn't look happy at the prospect. Morrigan wasn't sure whether by 'us' she meant 'mages' or 'friends of the man who destroyed the chantry'.

_Probably both._

She nodded in agreement. Once the dust had cleared, templars would come. Or seekers. The chantry would send people to investigate and Merrill was right: It would not be safe.

"What will you do?" Merrill asked curiously, looking out of the window again. "You and her I mean."

It was a good question. They couldn't stay here, either, of course. And Leliana would need to go back to Val Royaux. This disaster at Kirkwall was bound to have consequences.

_And I will go with her. Not openly, of course._

Morrigan had given this some thought. Even though Flemeth might not have been involved in this, the fact remained that she was out there, somewhere. Whether she would go after Morrigan or not, remained a mystery. But she could hardly believe that their paths would not cross sooner or later. And if – or more likely: when – Flemeth decided to make a move on her, Leliana was in even greater danger than by the mages and templars being at each other's throats.

_I cannot allow her being all alone there. I need to be closer._

She had not figured out yet, how she would do it. The prospect of entering the Orlesian society was not exactly something to look forward to, but there had to be a way for a woman of her...abilities to find a place in there. Some noble looking for a mage to protect him- or herself against competitors in the Game perhaps? All very discreet, of course.

_I will be close by, my love._

Her glance wandered back to the situation on the street, where Leliana was now laughingly 'struggling' with half a dozen children, who seemed to try to pull her in all directions at once. It was a strange sight – some kind of dance? Another game? Or just children fooling around? She really couldn't tell. And she couldn't care less.

Her eyes were fixed on the laughing woman in the middle. The woman who had gone through it all and still smiled.

_Born in Ferelden, but taken away. Grew up as a servant in a foreign land. Betrayed by her lover. Thrown to the wolves for torture, pain and humiliation. Redeemed by –quite literally – a Divine intervention. Speaks with the Maker._ It sent shivers down her spine as she noticed how oddly familiar this story sounded...

_Interesting._

"She is...special, is she not?" Merrill asked.

Morrigan chuckled, not lifting her eyes from Leliana's face for even a moment.

"Oh, you have no idea," she said. And smiled.

* * *

END

* * *

 


End file.
